


The Enemy of My Enemy

by fjshbones



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventually some sexy stuff, M/M, Mob setting, Runaway, Veretian mob vs. Akielon mob, laurent gets his ass saved by damen but what else is new, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-08-13 13:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 87,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20175064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fjshbones/pseuds/fjshbones
Summary: With the rest of his family dead, Laurent is put under the custody of his uncle, the Veretian mob boss. When he comes into his inheritance at 18 he runs away.Laurent hides in the part of the city owned by the Akielon gang until Govart finds him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I only recently entered the hell that is Captive Prince. I usually don't write fanfiction and I've never posted here before, but I've had this idea in my head for a few days so I wrote it out. If you're reading this I was brave enough to post.  
Not sure if this is a one-shot kind of thing or not.

Laurent held up the fake ID that claimed he was 22, and that he was a few inches taller than his actual height. The bouncer didn’t even glance at the piece of plastic. Laurent’s face could have gotten him into the club despite being 4 years younger than the age on the ID. The velvet rope was unclipped, and he waded into the noise and bodies.

The club was not an ideal hiding place. There was a book tucked in his satchel, but he had underestimated the unpleasant barrage on the senses. There wasn’t a steady light source, the lights moved and strobed in every hue, and attempting to concentrate on 11-point font would only worsen this new headache.

He tucked himself into a darker corner of the bar and ordered a cranberry lime soda. Casually, he put fingers to his temples a subtle way to hide his face from the majority of the club.

Laurent had decided on the club over the bookstore after a dizzying circle of reasoning. The bookstore, or trendy indie coffee shop, is where Laurent was expected to be, the club was not.

However, Laurent’s uncle knew this, knew that Laurent would know better. So, if it were more unexpected for him to do the expected he was no longer sure which was a better hiding place. He had managed to stay out of his uncle's grasp for several months so he was doing something right.

He decided on the club for a few reasons. One: it was owned by the Akielons, and two: it would be easier to disappear into the crowd.

Being on the Akielon side of the city was a risk, being in enemy territory, but was unsure if being returned to his uncle or captured by the rival mob was worse.

Unfortunately, he was more likely to get hit on in the bar than a bookstore, thus the attempt to casually hide his face.

Just as he thought it a body sat heavily on the stool next to him.

“Hello, Princess,” said Govart.

**—**

Damen, with his senses finely tuned to detect blonds, noticed when he entered the club. Even shoving through a crowd he was graceful. The slender blond sat at the bar and turned his back to the room.

Nikandros followed Damen’s gaze.

“No,” he said, “blonds are off the menu.”

“I’m just looking,” Damen protested.

They were in the VIP booth. Nikandros gestured aggressively at the line of people who hoped to get in and join them. There were a few bottle blonds in there but those only directed his eyes back to the natural one at the bar.

“Pick one of those,” Nikandros said, redirecting Damen’s attention to the people in line. One of the bottle blonde’s waved when he glanced at her. Nikandros took the initiative to gesture her past the bouncer.

“Nik—” Damen began.

“Don’t worry it’s diet blond.”

There wasn’t space directly next to Damen on the white leather couch, so diet blond had to sit across from them and next to Pallas who scooted a few inches away.

Damen’s blond radar redirected his gaze to the one at the bar. There was someone next to him now.

The bigger man jerked him from the stool and pressed him to the wall. Hands groping the blond’s body before he retaliated, jerking his knee into the man’s groin.

Damen stood without realizing it and was making his way across the room, but the crowd was thick with strangers and many wanted to talk with him.

The blond attempted to make an escape, but his attacker had kept his grip on the smaller wrist and when he recovered began to drag the blond towards the back door.

Damen saw the blond take a hit and stumble. He was a little more docile with his brain rattled and was easier to hustle out of Damen’s sight.

It took him precious moments to push through the crowd before he reached the back door. By that time Nikandros was at his side.

“Did you see?” Damen asked.

“I saw.”

The back alley was dimly lit and for a moment Damen thought he had lost them.

A scuffle at the far end caught their attention. Nikandros and Damen hurried towards the noise.

The kidnapper was trying to put the blond in the trunk of a black car and the blond was fighting with everything he had.

Damen saw the knife but didn’t reach them before it went into the blond’s shoulder.

When the kidnapper saw the two men running towards him, he dropped the blond in favor of fleeing.

Damen caught him while Nikandros went after the kidnapper.

The car took off spraying gravel and dust.

“Fucking idiot could have reversed and taken us out,” the blond mumbled.

“Call an ambulance,” Nikandros said.

“I left my phone in the club."

“For fucksake, Damianos,” Nikandros pulled out his cell.

“Don’t—” With a grip on Damen’s shirt, the blond levered himself to his feet.

“Why not?” Nikandros asked the phone partway to his ear.

“I— I’m fine,” the blond said with a hand over the wound, blood seeped through pale fingers. His breathing was shallow, obviously rattled, and in pain.

“You need a hospital,” Damen said.

“I’m fine,” he breathed and collapsed.

Damen caught him before he hit the ground and held the unconscious blond to his chest in a bridal carry.

“Take him to the light,” Nikandros suggested.

Damen did. The idea was to see how bad the knife wound was and how much blood had already been lost. Those objectives were forgotten when they saw the face.

“Oh god, is that—”

“The missing Veretian.”

“What was his name?”

“Laurent,” Damen said.


	2. Chapter 2

They stole a laundry basket from the nearest laundromat and did their best to puzzle Laurent’s limbs into the rectangular shape. It didn't look comfortable but he wasn’t awake to complain.

Nikandros had needed minutes of persuasion to agree to take the unconscious blond back to Damen’s apartment. If Laurent hadn’t been excessively bleeding it may have taken longer.

Damen’s apartment building was one of the Akielon owned businesses as well as a gang member hangout. Sneaking in an unconscious Veretian, particularly one with a price on his head, took a bit of tactical maneuvering. 

Damen changed out of the blood-stained clothes and into the spare outfit he kept in his Jeep. The soiled clothes went into the laundry basket and Nikandros added his topcoat to further hide Laurent.

Carrying the clothes basket through the lobby to the elevator took effort. It wasn’t that Damen lacked the strength, more that it was cumbersome and not the best way to carry a body and make it look as effortless as carrying a basket that was supposed to be a quarter of the weight. 

The concierge attempted to stop them and relay a message. Damen was already prepared to ignore anyone who attempted to talk to them but was more determined to do so when he heard the message was from Jokaste.

In the elevator Nikandros helped Damen hold the basket.

“Why is she leaving messages with the concierge instead of your cell?”

“Probably because I left my phone at the club.”

Damen ignored the judgmental stare.

“I’ll text Pallas,” Nikandros sighed.

-

“Don’t lay him on the bed he’ll bleed on it,” Nikandros wanted Laurent placed in the bathtub.  
Damen knew it was to keep incriminating blood stains out of the carpet or mattress, but dead bodies usually went into the tub. It disturbed Damen in an unexplainable way to see the pale blond crumpled in the bathtub.

They had attempted to bind the wound and stop the bleeding before putting him in the laundry basket, but the cleaning rags only absorbed the blood and did nothing to stop the flow. 

Nikandros removed Laurent’s sweater. The laceration was immersed with alcohol. Then with Damen wiping away blood with a washcloth, Nikandros stitched the wound together.

Alcohol was splashed over the stitches and Damen toweled off the blood from Laurent’s torso.

“Take off his pants if you’re going to put him in your bed,” Nikandros said.

The suggestion startled Damen but realized it was only because the top of Laurent’s jeans were damp with blood. 

“Hey,” Nikandros snapped his fingers in Damen’s face to get his attention. 

“Sorry,” Damen said.

Nikandros shook his head and pulled black jeans off slender hips. This did nothing to clear Damen’s head. 

“He is beautiful,” Nikandros agreed with Damen’s thoughts after he stood and joined Damen in staring. “Put down a towel on the bed just to be safe.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I trust you to be a gentleman, at least while he’s unconscious.”

Damen did as instructed and laid towels on the bed before he put Laurent on top of them. He wondered if it would be more intrusive to dress Laurent in some of his clothes or leave him almost naked under the blankets.

He decided to clothe him in one of his t-shirts, which to Laurent was more like a dress.  
Damen lifted Laurent’s head to slip the shirt on, very aware of his hand in the silk locks of blond hair.

His hair looked like it once had a stylish cut but had been allowed to grow out in the few months Laurent had been in hiding.

A knock on his door distracted him. It was Pallas dropping off Damen’s cell phone.  
He ignored the messages from Jokaste and Kastor. The most recent texts were from Nikandros.

“Clean the basket and do laundry. Use bleach.”

“Btw should prbly restrain him. I know you have ‘things’.”

Damen did have ‘things’. The handcuffs seemed too alarming to wake up to, but he also had ankle cuffs. He figured one would be enough and disconnected the cuffs from the spreader bar and attached Laurent to the bed frame.

Damen didn’t want to be away when Laurent woke, it was already going to be an unpleasant experience, but he knew the perils of keeping blood-stained clothes around. He also just needed to do something. Something other than staring.

He cleaned his new clothes basket and gathered the dirty laundry, including Laurent’s, and took the stairs to the laundry room. It was several floors down but the restless energy was all the stamina he needed. 

With inebriating memories of parted lips, pink nipples, and warm skin Damen forgot to add laundry detergent. 

Still entranced with hazy thoughts and memories, Damen reentered his apartment to be speared on a hostile blue-eyed glare.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh- hi,” Damen began.

Laurent’s eyebrows lifted. His blue eyes acidic. He may have looked harmless unconscious, but Laurent awake was a different creature. 

Damen was in a state of undress. Upon reentering his apartment, he had taken off his pants and was only wearing underwear. He had planned to fall onto the couch and sleep for a few hours and checked on Laurent on his way to the living room.

“Returned to find out if I’m as good a fuck conscious?” The voice was sophisticated and silken completely incongruous with the unsettling words. 

“What? I didn’t- I wouldn’t,” Damen objected.

“Oh, were you planning on knocking me out first? Can’t get it up if I’m awake?”

“Stop, you saw us rescue you.”

“And I guess you thought that entitled you to a reward?”

“Look,” Damen pointed at the time on the alarm clock. “It’s only been an hour since you were at the club. Do you think in the time it took us to drive here, smuggle in your unconscious body, sew up your shoulder, and start the laundry, that I had time to fuck you?”

“I can’t comment on your stamina,” Laurent said.

“Trust me, sweetheart if I had fucked you, you’d know it.”

Laurent’s gaze followed Damen’s gesture to hip level where the outline in his boxer briefs was very obvious.

“So, you found it necessary to-” Laurent looked at his ankle, “Foot-cuff me to the bed for what reason?”

“Believe it or not, it’s to keep you safe.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

Damen realized he had a point, chained to a stranger’s bed in only a shirt and underwear he probably did not feel safe.

“Hold on,” Damen left and returned with a switchblade. Laurent’s face didn’t betray him, but his body tensed. 

“Here,” he handed the blade to Laurent. He accepted it with his gaze on Damen. “That’s a mini-fridge there with water. I think you can reach it. How’s your shoulder? Do you want Advil or something?”

“I’m fine,” Laurent was still looking at him. 

At some point while Damen was away, Laurent had made his way to the end of the bed to scrutinize the binding on his ankle. He had arranged himself on his knees, attempting a dignified pose with the shirt pulled down over his thighs. 

“Where exactly am I?”

“Karthas Apartments, it’s in Akielos territory.”

“I know where it is.”

“Right. There are a lot of us living here it would be a risk for you to even walk down the hall.”

“You know who I am then,” Laurent said it as a statement.

“Yes. Your uncle has tried to accuse us of kidnapping.”

“I see, and you decided to make that a reality?”

“You’re not kidnapped,” said Damen.

Laurent looked pointedly at the chain that leashed him to the bed, “I didn’t realize I was able to leave.”

“That was a precaution to keep you from wandering out of this room and finding actual danger,” Damen explained.

“So, you can release me then.”

“Are you going to try to leave?”

Laurent gave him a look.

“Your clothes are being cleaned just relax and stay here tonight.”

“You make it sound like I have a choice,” Laurent said his eyes cold and focused on Damen.

Damen didn’t think all of this hostility came from the botched rescue attempt.

“Do you-” he didn’t want to ask, “know who I am?”

“Damianos.” Laurent stated it flatly.

“So you know-”

“Know that you were apart of the shoot out that killed my brother? Yes. Tell me, was it you who shot him, or was he so insignificant to you that you had some drudge do it?”

“It wasn’t like that. There were a lot of guns, a lot of bullets flying. It could have been me, could have been one of his own men. Something went wrong in the negotiations. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“My brother wasn’t supposed to bleed out in a gutter?”

“Auguste died instantly.”

“So his brains were splattered everywhere.”

Damen closed his eyes briefly, “No, but picturing it isn’t going to help you.”

He found Laurent looking at the scar on his shoulder.

“This is from Auguste, it’s one of the few things I’m certain of from that encounter.”

Laurent, his blue eyes cold and hard, surveyed Damen, staying in the short boundary of face and scar. His posture was straight, but the slant of the right shoulder was different from the left. Damen knew he couldn’t be feeling well, knowing from experience the pain and blood loss from a stab wound could be overwhelming.

“I’m sorry,” Damen said it even though he knew it wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry about your brother. He shouldn’t have died where and how he did.”

Laurent stared back at him, “I had a satchel at the club did it happen to get 'rescued' with me?” 

“It’s in the hall, but if you want it, I’ll have to search it first.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me have my phone?”

“No,” Damen almost smiled. 

Laurent looked away then, Damen saw him take a breath as he seemed to reassess his surroundings. It was a small vulnerable moment that Damen would have missed if he hadn’t been watching.

Damen didn’t know much about Laurent other than the basics of his family, but with his mouth closed the most noticeable thing was that Laurent was only 18.

“Can I have my book?” Laurent finally asked.

“Sure.” Damen flipped through the pages just to be sure there was nothing hidden inside. He set the book and a bottle of Advil on the mini-fridge side table where Laurent could reach them.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.”

“I would really like you to rethink the ankle cuff,” Laurent said.

“Look at it this way, you’ve lost enough blood that I don’t think you’d get far even if you weren’t restrained.”

“I think you underestimate me.”

“You think I chained you to a bed because I underestimate you?”

Laurent’s expression shifted from the hard glower to a more considering one, he was almost surprised.

“Goodnight,” Damen said and did smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Damen didn’t think to check the caller ID before answering the phone, his only objective was to stop the noise. 

“Oh, were you sleeping?” Jokaste’s sounded sultry even through the phone.

“What do you want?” Damen sat up groggily.

“This is a courtesy call, I’m in the lobby on my way to get some things I left in your apartment.”

“Now is not a good time.”

“I’ll be there in five,” she hung up. 

Damen checked the time; he’d only slept a few hours. Jokaste knew what nights he was supposed to patrol the clubs and would be out late. She had no doubt planned to catch him off guard by calling this early.

He didn’t want to see her. She would be gorgeous and dressed in a way to remind him that she wasn’t his anymore. 

How long had she been cheating on him with Kastor? He decided he didn’t want to know.

Damen fell back onto the couch and considered going back to sleep and ignoring when she knocked. 

Except she still had a key.

Had she even left things in his apartment or was she just coming over to strut around and make barbed remarks? Could he sleep through that?

He flung an arm over his eyes trying to use the extra flesh as a barrier against the images his mind was attempting to conjure. In particular that one of blond hair painted across love-worn sheets.

Damen sat up remembering another blond in another bed.

Laurent was asleep. The switchblade gripped loosely in a fist. The bottle of Advil had moved.

“Laurent,” Damen nudged the uninjured shoulder and kept an eye on the knife.

Laurent woke with a small breath, his grip on the knife tightened but that was the only sign of alarm he showed. 

“I need to hide you,” Damen said.

Before Laurent could make some disparaging comment, Damen lifted Laurent and moved him bodily to the end of the bed. Laurent exhaled sharply either from pain or surprise but didn’t feel threatened enough to utilize the knife. 

There was a knock at the door.

Damen dumped blankets over Laurent and attempted to arrange them in a way that looked as if they had been kicked off casually and weren’t hiding a person.

The front door opened, and he exited the bedroom.

His predictions regarding Jokaste had been correct. She had made the extra attempt to look unattainable and glided through his apartment circling furniture pieces, running fingers over tabletops, and rearranging throw pillows. 

His apartment was covered in her fingerprints. They wouldn’t be murdering each other any time soon.

“I’ve heard rumors Laurent was seen at the Aegina last night,” Jokaste said.

“Laurent who?” Damen rested a shoulder against a wall and watched her violate his apartment.

“You know, the Veretian mob bosses’ missing nephew? I have a picture.” She produced a wallet-sized photograph of what looked like a high school yearbook photo. 

Damen had a hard time equating the Laurent he had met last night to a high school student.

The offered picture had a soft blue background, but the only soft part of Laurent was the yellow hair. In a crisp navy boarding school uniform, he stared apathetically at the viewer, the eyes sharp enhanced by the surrounding blues.

“Look at that, he's just your type.”

It was the first time Damen had noticed the unsettling resemblance between the two blonds in his apartment. 

Damen had stared too long at the photograph and returned it to Jokaste.

“I told Kastor that if Laurent had been there when you were that you would have noticed him. Pretty little blond like that, you would have done your best to get him into your bed.” Jokaste’s intrusive comportment had taken her to the door of his bedroom.

“I didn’t see him,” Damen stated.

“I didn’t think so, but now that we know he’s been hiding in our territory we’ve informed everyone to be extra vigilant.”

“What is Kastor planning on doing with him?”

“See what he could be ransomed for? Although with a face like that maybe he would make more in one the houses.”

Jokaste went to the mini-fridge and sorted through the bottles to claim one of the last Fiji waters that Damen had stocked at her request not two weeks ago.

“You said you left things here,” Damen reminded her.

“Yes,” she said and ran fingers over the sheets while she held his gaze. “I’m missing some earrings.” she crossed to the dresser parallel to the bed and moved his belongings around.

She stumbled across Laurent’s boots left in the bathroom. Damen claimed they were Pallas’. Jokaste commented that she’d never seen Pallas wear anything other than high-tops.

After collecting a flat-iron and a tube of lipstick Jokaste had finished the casual ransacking of his belongings.

“Kastor and I have allowed you an adjustment period, but you have been slacking on your work. Your father left the business to both of you, so you need to stop dodging calls and pull your weight.” With that disparaging remark, she left.

Damen remained supported by the wall and fended off uncomfortable thoughts until sounds of movement from the bedroom distracted him.

Laurent had untangled himself from the mass of bedding and was looking at the ankle cuff as though he could simply will it off his leg.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Damen asked.

For a moment Laurent stared at him with the same hostility that he’d directed at his bindings. A bruise had flowered across his cheekbone where he’d been struck, his eyes were outlined in a sore looking pink .

“Fruit. Green or black tea, whichever is available,” Laurent said.

From the café next to the apartments Damen picked up some breakfast sandwiches, green tea with honey, coffee for himself, as well as a banana and pear.  
The laundry was collected before taking the elevator up to his floor.

He almost expected, almost hoped, Laurent had found a way to escape, but either he couldn’t pick a lock or didn’t have the materials, because he had curled up at the end of the bed still restrained.

Damen pulled Laurent’s ankle out from under him and unlocked the cuff. 

“Here,” Damen dropped Laurent’s clean clothes next to him. “I got you breakfast. The bathroom is down the hall if you want to shower.” 

If Laurent wanted to leave, Damen wouldn’t stop him. His chances of making it out of the building were considerably low but he would be someone else’s problem.

It was a few minutes before Damen heard Laurent begin to move in the other room.  
Damen propped open the sliding door to the balcony and filled the room with ocean air. The beach was only a mile’s walk away and took up a majority of his apartment’s view.

He finished the first sandwich before Laurent appeared, he lingered in the doorway a little apprehensively. Damen assembled Laurent’s portion of the food on the other side of the table as an invitation. Laurent took it as such and sat opposite of him. 

He had taken advantage of the shower and dressed in his own clothes. The dark sweater had an obvious hole in the right shoulder. The skin there was visible and bare. The bandages would need to be reapplied.

“Thank you,” Laurent said after he had taken a few sips of his tea.

“For what?”

“You know for what.”

“I never planned on taking advantage of you, especially while you’re injured.”

“I see that now.” Laurent studied him, “Why did you help me?”

“I wasn’t going to leave you to bleed out in the gutter.”

Laurent’s posture stiffened. Damen realized the wording he had used reflected how Laurent had described Auguste’s death ‘bleed out in the gutter’. 

“I thought Akielon’s were supposed to be— ruthless. Is it because I’m your _type_?”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything. It’s a fairly small apartment for someone of your status.”

“It’s why I noticed you, otherwise you would have spent your night in the trunk of a car.”

“Instead of cuffed to the bed belonging to a head member of teh rival gang? If you’d asked my preference last night, I might have chosen the trunk.”

Damen breathed out something akin to a laugh.

“What did she mean by ‘houses’?” Laurent asked.

“The red-light district,” Damen said. 

Laurent paled almost imperceptibly, “I nearly forgot the main trade resource of the Akielon’s is sex with whores.”

“Is that worse than the Veretian drug trade?”

“Drug addiction can be conquered if they possess the will power. Can the prostitutes stop whenever they want?”

“We don’t force them into the business.”

“No, they’re just so indebted after they start that it’s nearly impossible to get out.”

“As opposed to getting teenagers addicted sp they have to resort to stealing to get a hit?”

“What about the prostitutes that are forced to take the amorous drug in order to entertain more clients?”

Damen startled a little.

“Didn’t know that?” Laurent asked. 

Damen didn’t know that but was saved from answering by a knock on the door.

Nikandros entered and eyed Laurent sitting unrestrained on Damen’s couch.

“We’re allowing small Veretians to roam free through our apartments now?” Nikandros asked.

Damen saw Laurent open his mouth to undoubtedly reply with something scathing and cut him off. “I thought it best to wait until evening when the lobby is crowded to sneak him out.” 

“How did you get me in here to begin with?” Laurent asked.

Damen and Nikandros shared a glance.

“Don’t worry about it,” Damen said.

Laurent looked between them with an eyebrow lifted but didn’t push the issue.

Nikandros reluctantly bandaged and wrapped Laurent’s shoulder again. Laurent then proceeded to stay on the couch for most of the day, the shoulder wound likely bothering him more than he would admit. 

Damen spent time in the afternoon on the weight bench out on the balcony. He caught Laurent staring when he reentered the room on his way to the shower.

“What?” Damen asked.

“Nothing,” Laurent redirected his eyes to his book.

Later, Damen gave Laurent one of his hoodies that attempted to swallow him, as well as a beanie to tuck the blond hair into.

“You look like a pubescent gang banger,” Damen commented.

Laurent, in the process of rolling up the sleeves, paused and looked up. “Just because I’ve temporarily fallen in with giants doesn’t mean in the real world I am especially miniature.”

“Says the person who fit in a clothes basket.”

“What?”

-

Laurent received a few glances, but it could have just been his face. They made it to Damen’s Jeep with little incident. Laurent had said he left a vehicle at the club, but Damen hadn't expected the black street bike.

Laurent threw a leg over the motorcycle and moved his satchel to rest against the back of his hips. He tossed the beanie through the Jeep window onto Damen’s lap but seemed intent on keeping the hoodie. Laurent didn’t glance at Damen before he slipped the helmet on and sped away.


	5. Chapter 5

Laurent should have noticed sooner but was having some trouble thinking and lied to himself that it was just the blood loss.

The door to his apartment was open and through the crack he could see the disarray. The apartment had been raided. He took the switchblade from his pocket and listened at the door on the chance he was unlucky enough to encounter the intruder. He nudged the door open with his boot and could see the entirety of the tiny apartment. It was empty of intruders but completely trashed. He would not be getting his deposit back.

Laurent couldn’t linger and take in the damage, knowing it was likely the building was being watched for his return.

All day he had felt on the verge of vomiting. It was difficult to breathe let alone find the duffle bag and shovel in his clothes that had been thrown around with such abandon it was almost comical.

Laurent levered himself under the bed and found his laptop where he had taped it to the bottom of the frame. His other gadgets had remained undiscovered as well.

He knew what the intruder had been looking for, apart from himself, but whoever had tossed his apartment was an idiot, probably Govart, and hadn't found anything important.

He couldn’t take the time to pack everything, just the important things, speed was more important than being thorough. He didn’t even bother to shut the door when he left.

Laurent should have invested in a more sensible vehicle. The bike had been Auguste’s and had advantages, a main one being it had pissed off the headmaster at boarding school as well as his uncle. Now though he needed a place to sleep and the motorcycle wasn’t going to help with that.

The cash he carried was probably enough for a night or two at a cheap motel if he didn’t eat one of those days. It was getting too cold to go back to sleeping in alleyways or rooftops.

Laurent was strapping the duffle bag to the back of the motorcycle when he noticed the SUV driving towards him at an unfriendly speed. Again, he should have seen it sooner. The shoulder wound and scent of the oversized hoodie had been distracting him.

He didn’t have time to secure the helmet under his chin with the SUV bearing down on him. The bike was started in time to swerve out of its path and he hit the street with the pursuers right behind him.

The lifted SUV looked ridiculous and too noticeable for a street race, but the chunky tires could roll over raised sidewalk curbs and cut corners faster than the motorcycle. It forced Laurent to go faster than he was comfortable with through the suburban area.

Rush hour had concluded an hour ago, and the meager traffic didn’t provide enough obstacles to put between himself and the SUV. Blowing through red lights and narrowly avoiding the perpendicular traffic he gained only meters. The SUV took damage, fender benders, and other dings from cars that didn’t stop in time. A cacophony of horns and squealing tires followed him through intersections.

Laurent followed the signs to the highway exit. He needed a straight stretch to gain an advantage. The bike was capable of exceeding 200 mph and he could weave through the traffic better than the cumbersome SUV.

The ramp wasn’t a sharp turn, but even an obtuse angle at a high speed threatened to tip his bike. The SUV had a better turning radius, and if Laurent hadn’t managed to keep his lead through the streets he would have been mowed down. There was a heartbeat where he didn’t think he would make it with the SUV filling his mirrors and the engine growing louder. He thought he could feel the heat from the grill. Laurent began to suspect he was no longer wanted alive.

Laurent met the straight three-lane highway and accelerated. The bike humming between his legs. He slowly began to gain ground. Slipping between cars, he put rows of traffic between him and the pursuers. Until the SUV hit the shoulder and without cars to maneuver around Laurent’s lead was swallowed.

Lights lit up the mirrors on his handlebars. City cops had joined the pursuit. Laurent was breaking the speed limit by forty or more, but he wasn’t as big a risk to public safety as the larger vehicle and the cop cars focused their attention on the SUV.

There were no guard rails and the SUV traveled into the flat grass and dirt median between the two highways. The tires were all-terrain, but the extra friction of the unpaved earth slowed them. Only two cop cars were daring enough to follow on the grassy path. Laurent was limited by the flow of traffic and despite the limitations on the SUV it was once again too close to the motorcycle.

With no guard rails, the SUV could breach his lane of traffic and pin him against an adjacent vehicle. Laurent had too many unfulfilled goals to end up as a white cross on the city highway.

When the SUV was across from him, Laurent took the parallel exit two lanes away and was nearly flattened by a semi-truck. The SUV had three lanes to cross and wouldn’t make the turn. The semi had braked hard to avoid crushing Laurent and jackknifed, blocking the lane barring any of the police cruisers who would have attempted to follow him.

Laurent stopped behind the red light at the end of the exit. His hands shook when he tried to strap his helmet on. He had nearly lost it on a few turns. It probably wouldn’t make a difference if he was reduced to roadkill, but he’d had to readjust it to see when it rattled loose. Not being able to see would kill him just as efficiently.

In the mirror, a car joined the queue and snagged his attention. Had it been behind him when he’d first entered the highway? A silver Challenger. It wasn’t uncommon but not exactly nondescript. He hadn’t managed to snap the helmet strap when a gun slid out of the passenger window of the Challenger.

This was getting irritating.

Laurent didn’t wait for the light and took off onto the narrow shoulder to mold into the traffic flow on the other side of the light. He split off onto the state road where the traffic was considerably denser in the area close to downtown.

The Challenger wasn’t visible in the rearview and he cruised along for a mile or two into the main stretch around the shopping centers. Finally, his heart rate began to slow.

Until he saw the SUV across the concrete median coming towards him in the opposing traffic. With the giant tires, it crossed the median, the raised suspension allowing it to coast across into oncoming traffic and straight at him.

Around Laurent, the cars switched lanes and boxed him in. The bike wouldn’t jump the six-inch median. The hysteria was overwhelming with the noise of angry drivers, horns, and police sirens.

Laurent wheeled the bike around in the lane and turned away from the charging SUV.  
Then there was the Challenger. He saw it in the distance working its way through traffic into his lane.

There was a break in the median back about 20 yards away. The road was clear with cars now moving out of Laurent’s path. Only the Challenger was moving to intercept him.  
He stayed low over the handlebars and rode the gears hard to race the oncoming Challenger to the break. The car was in his lane and with nothing else in its path it hurdled towards him the roar of the engine competing with the other sounds of traffic. It was a deadly game of chicken for Laurent. The driver of the Challenger would most likely survive the collision. Only for Laurent was it a do or die moment.

The motorcycle won but didn’t take the turn fast enough and the Challenger clipped the back end. The bike twisted violently and struck the asphalt. Laurent, trapped under the motorcycle, was scraped against the pavement the weight of the bike on his chest suffocating. He lost the helmet. It protected his skull from the first jarring bounce but was sucked off roughly when the momentum of the bike dragged him into the center lane.

The oncoming traffic swerved and collided to avoid him. This time when the horns and shouts came, they sounded tinny and distant, all sounds now muffled and strange.

Laurent prodded on by panic, pulled himself out from under the motorcycle and struggled to his feet. The left leg gave out and he went to a knee panting. Car horns continued to barrage him. Some people exited their vehicles with phones pressed to their ears and seemed unsure whether to help him.

The sirens were still distant, likely unable to get through the impromptu traffic jams. They would make it through eventually and Laurent wasn’t going to spend time in a cell or a hospital room.

Will power put him unsteadily back on his feet. He didn’t think anything was broken but the adrenaline fended off the pain and at the moment he couldn’t tell how badly he was hurt. For a disorienting moment, he searched for his helmet. It had been a gift, and he was reluctant to leave it, but it had bounced out of sight and there was no time to search.

The Challenger had blown past the crossing point and nearly collided with the SUV. The motorcycle was upright as the Challenger reversed to the break in the median. The SUV no longer blocked by any obstacles drove forward with the same objective.

Laurent mounted the bike and went straight into the mall entrance road.  
He was a little disoriented, but he thought he remembered this mall being partly under construction. He wove through the parking lot staying low on the bike. He could glimpse the top of the SUV over the parked cars but had lost sight of the Challenger.

He made it to the far end of the mall where it was being added on to. Plastic tarps flapped over plywood walls. Laurent had lost visual of both pursuers and risked crossing the open space to the construction site. He moved the bike past a tarp onto the sawdust floor. He rested the motorcycle on its side behind a tower of cinder blocks before he had to take the weight off his left leg and collapsed next to the bike. He passed a hand over the scarred paint and grated handlebar. Auguste had never wrecked the bike and Laurent had nearly totaled it. The helmet was also gone and that bothered him.

He unfastened the duffle bag from the bike, more concerned about his computer than the throb in his ankle.

The pain began to hit him, his ankle felt the most damaged, but his hip and elbow weren’t far behind. Laurent's chest ached where the bike had been on top of him and he found it hard to take a full breath but was currently counting that towards the panic, the same with the blurry vision. With everything else, he barely noticed his shoulder. He knew he had stayed on his knees for too long, but he needed the moment to collect himself. The knee and elbow pain seemed mainly superficial and damp. Most likely flesh wounds, it was probably blood he felt soaking into his boot.

Laurent was startled by a foot scuff behind him. He had the switchblade out but was faced with a gun.

-

Damen was nearly back to Karthas Apartments when the police scanner lit up with reports and calls of a black motorcycle and SUV involved in a car chase on the highway.

He hadn’t realized he had turned the Jeep around until the other drivers protested by laying on their horns and throwing middle fingers in his direction.

Using the radio and police scanner Damen followed the chase and occasionally caught a glimpse of the motorcycle. The bike was not immediately recognizable, but Damen’s hoodie on the slender body and blond hair visible from the back of the helmet confirmed it was Laurent.

Damen was in 6th gear and couldn’t keep up with Laurent who had to be going upwards of 90 mph. He was good at riding, and Damen was oddly proud.

He lost him for several minutes after Laurent’s suicidal dash across the highway and to the exit. He followed the SUV and witnessed Laurent playing chicken with a silver Dodge. Damen didn't breathe when Laurent and the bike slid across the tarmac. The helmet came off that blond head and Laurent was unmoving in the middle of the road for a few sickening seconds.

It was incredibly impressive and relieving to see him get up and limp back onto the bike like an unstoppable force.

When traffic began to flow again, Damen pulled his Jeep into the mall parking lot after Laurent. It was only by chance that he saw Laurent roll his bike into the construction site.

Damen parked the Jeep and witnessed several figures dart into the construction area. He took the Beretta from beneath his seat and tucked it into the back of his jeans then checked the Glock in his shoulder holster.

The sun had nearly set and inside the half-formed walls, the air was dusty and dim. Damen followed the motorcycle tracks through the drywall dust. He drew the Glock once out of sight of civilians.

He found Laurent kneeling next to a pile of cinder blocks and the fallen motorcycle. He held the switchblade Damen had given him.

“What are you doing here?” Laurent had unthinkingly placed a hand over his heart.

“Is that the only weapon you have?” Damen knelt down next to him and pulled the Beretta out of his pants. “Six men followed you in here.” He gave the gun to Laurent.

Laurent studied the Beretta turning it over to find the safety, then the release for the magazine.

“You have used a gun before, right?”

“The mechanics aren’t that difficult.”

“Pull the slider back to chamber a round.”

Laurent adjusted his grip and did as Damen showed him to initiate the slide rack and prime the gun for firing.

With Laurent now capable of defense Damen looked him over, “Are you alright? I saw you wreck.”

“Nothing is broken.” was the non-committal answer.

“Pull up your hood and hide that blond hair. If we can get back to my Jeep we can get out of here.”

Laurent looked down at the motorcycle, obviously not wanting to leave it but pulled the hood over his hair and used the cinder blocks to get to his feet. He kept most of his weight off his left side. Damen, on his right, attempted to circle around to assess the damage. Laurent stopped him with a blue-eyed look. He had acted similarly with his shoulder injury, refusing to admit it bothered or hindered him.

Damen was going to rebel against Laurent’s silent will, if there was going to be a fight, he needed to know how much he could rely on Laurent.

He didn’t get the chance. A shot echoed through the empty space and the bullet buried itself into the plywood behind them.

Laurent made a soft noise of pain as Damen pushed him down, negating all the effort it took to stand up.

The bullet hole was closer to where Laurent’s head had been.

“Is your uncle is trying to kill you?”

“Apparently. Although if I surrender it’s likely I would be taken alive.”

“What would happen after you surrendered?”

“I would still probably be killed eventually.”

“What did you do to piss him off?” Damen asked.

“It’s not what I’ve done, it’s what I’m doing.”

Before Damen could ask, they heard movement only a few yards away.

“We should move before we’re surrounded,” Damen said.

Laurent looked back at the bike then levered himself to his feet again. Damen had to resist helping him.

“Stay low,” Damen said and risked peering over the blocks. “The entrance you came in is closest.”

“Then it will be guarded,” Laurent said.

“All of them will be,” Damen said thinking that the best strategy for the six of them would be to spread out, cover the exits and herd the two of them back to the center where they could be surrounded. It would be best to get to the closest exit and avoid the trap.

Laurent pulled his duffle bag across his body, the main bulk of it against his back. The bag was nearly as big as Laurent himself.

“I can carry that for you,” Damen offered.

“I can manage,” Laurent brushed him off without a glance.

“I’ll go first,” Damen led the way with the gun in a two-handed grip. Laurent followed him almost reluctantly. Damen risked a glance back, Laurent tried not to show he was limping but couldn’t quite manage.

The site was filled with large machines and piles of supplies that offered enough cover on their way to the door.

They had nearly reached the exit when Laurent said, “Wait.”

There was an area of empty space between their hiding spot and the exit. Damen had prepared to make a run for it when Laurent stopped him.

“There should be a guard,” Laurent said.

“This door leads to the parking lot; six gunmen can’t stand out there without being noticed," Damen said and Laurent looked like he was going to object further but Damen took the opportunity to dash for the door.

He had been half right about the six gunmen. There were only three. The guns were at hip level obscured from any vigilant civilian. He was a fool.

Damen dropped his Glock and risked looking back. Laurent was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Damen didn’t know when or how he had been drugged. He had faded in and out only to catch obscure moments. How much time had passed was beyond him, but he knew in the dim way that he knew his hands were tied behind his back, that he was in a Veretian location. 

Somehow, he must have still been capable of walking, he didn’t think he had been carried into the building, he was a lot to carry. 

He remembered the non-descript van he had entered at gunpoint. It was probably at that point he had been drugged but he thought he would have remembered a rag of chloroform or a syringe.

What he wanted to remember was more of the conversation that decided his fate. He thought he could recall the name Guion. Laurent was mentioned a lot. He just wasn’t alert enough to follow the conversation.

There had been talk of ransom negotiations, but no decisions were expected to be made until the boss arrived in the morning, and the current debate was what to do with him until then. 

Damen slowly became aware of small details. He had been stashed in the corner of an undecorated office and was in handcuffs. If he could find a tool worthy of lock picking, he was fairly certain he could free himself.

He did his best to be inconspicuous and look around for a way to get out of the cuffs. He had thought the drug was wearing off but in his search for a lock pick the room altered. The lighting had changed, and three out of the five people were replaced with different ones. The clock on the desk wasn’t easy to read from his perspective but the hands appeared to be revolving faster than was natural. It was after midnight, as long as he hadn’t been here for more than a day and it was already noon. 

His senses had come back online enough to reason out that it had to be midnight since the “boss” was supposed to come by morning, and Damen liked to think he hadn’t been sitting in this drab office for that long, or that he had missed the boss meeting entirely. 

Another hour of watching the clock and he could think a little clearer. He had been drugged once before and his size hadn’t been accounted for when he’d been dosed. It was possible this was a similar situation and he would be lucid before expected.

He was wondering if he could get to the desk and possibly swipe a paperclip when two of the guards pulled Damen to his feet. He’d thought his head was clear, but his body was not on the same page. He had also failed to notice that his ankle had been chained to the bottom of the chair. 

His acting was sufficient enough for the guards to believe he was still dazed and docile. They were discussing the irony of putting him, an Akielon, into one of the rooms for the night. The other guard questioned the ethics of consent with Damen supposedly in a drugged state. 

Damen thought he knew what they were insinuating, but before he could fully process a hooded figure turned the corner a few feet in front of them, raised a Beretta and shot both guards.

“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” Damen said.

“I didn’t see the point in both of us getting caught,” Laurent replied.

Laurent hadn’t changed clothes, still wearing the hoodie that used to be Damen’s, and jeans that needed to be retired. The pants, and Laurent’s leg, looked like they had battled a cheese grater. The jeans were dark enough to hide bloodstains, but the fabric had a crunchy aspect where the viscous liquid had solidified. Parts of the fabric had likely molded to the scrape and would rip open the scabs when removed. The ankle seemed to be the point of concern. Laurent had cut up a plastic bottle and duct-taped it to the outside of his boot as a makeshift splint. 

Damen was still a little dazed when Laurent removed a standard handcuff key from his pocket and freed Damen’s hands.

“Do you just carry those keys around with you?” Damen asked.

“It’s often convenient unless someone takes your clothes off before cuffing you to a bed.” Laurent began to drag the dead bodies into the closest empty room. 

Damen started to help but bending over made him dizzy, “They drugged me with something.”

Once the door was shut Laurent used the butt of the gun as a hammer to smack the doorknob repeatedly until it broke and the dead guards on the other side would not be easy to find or access. He stuck the doorknob and gun in his satchel.

“As long as you can walk,” Laurent said and didn’t wait to see if Damen followed him. He was less than graceful quickly limping down hallways. 

It was impossible that no one had heard the gunshots or the noisy assault on the door, but they made it to the second floor despite Laurent’s difficulty using the stairs. Damen had contemplated picking him up. It took them double the time it would have to reach the bottom and by that time the sounds of pursuit had begun above them. 

Damen was preparing to gather his faculties and run down the hall to the next set of stairs, but Laurent shoved him backwards into the nearest room and shut the door behind them.

Laurent seemed a little surprised to find the room empty and quickly glanced around. Damen was surprised to find it empty except for a bed but was more surprised when Laurent shoved him onto it. 

“What are you doing?” Damen asked.

“Take your shirt off,” said Laurent and straddled Damen’s lap.

Damen wasn’t breathing let alone possessing the capability to remove his shirt. Laurent did it for him after he’d hesitated too long, and then his hands went lower to seemingly remove more clothing. 

“Laurent,” Damen caught his hands in surprise.

“There’s a camera in the corner. If we look like we’re utilizing the facilities we’ll blend in.”

Damen hoped it was the remnants of the drugs that was confusing him and not that his brain had shut down because Laurent was on his lap.

“This is a brothel?”

“What did they drug you with? This is a brothel, there’s the security camera that someone is probably watching us through. We’re hiding in plain sight.” Laurent freed his wrists with a flick.

“We’re play acting…” Damen processed, “for how long?”

“The power will go off in approximately five minutes.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I set it to go off in 15 minutes 10 minutes ago. So stop talking and get your cock out.” Laurent said this and went for Damen’s belt.

“Hold on,” Damen redirected Laurent’s hands again. 

“Do you need to knock me out to get it up?”

“What? No. If we’re going to be leaving quickly it may be best that I don’t have to redress.”

“They don’t have to come all the way off.”

“Laurent,” Damen moved Laurent off of his lap to sit next to him. Laurent appeared perplexed thinking he had been rejected. 

Laurent was intent on playing out this scene but had never even touched Damen willingly, and he wasn’t sure if Laurent even liked him. Damen, still a little intoxicated, wasn’t sure if allowing Laurent to have control of this situation would be taking advantage of his all or nothing mindset.

“Let’s keep it simple,” Damen suggested.

“Simple?” Laurent raised an eyebrow.

Laurent watched him with those blue eyes as Damen leaned down, Laurent didn’t move away but neither did he move closer. Damen paused, their mouths only centimeters apart. He had thought of kissing Laurent since he had first seen him but was determined not to take advantage of this situation and make Laurent uncomfortable. 

“Well?” Laurent said his lashes lowered.

Damen pressed forward. Laurent’s lips were unyielding for the brief contact, but he didn’t have the will power to part from Laurent more than an inch. The large hoodie nearly hid the quick rise and fall of Laurent's chest as his breathing shallowed.

Laurent’s lips parted and Damen kissed him again, resting his hand against the soft hair at Laurent’s nape. Tentatively Laurent began to respond. Damen had to resist the impulse to tug him closer or rush the kiss.

Laurent pulled away to breathe. Damen, unable to resist, kissed the corner of his mouth and then his jaw. Laurent flinched when Damen’s hand traveled up from the slender waist to his ribs, but it was from pain than surprise. The memory of the motorcycle nearly crushing Laurent was still vivid.

“Sorry,” Damen said.

“It’s just— bruised.”

His shoulder had been ‘fine’ his ribs were ‘bruised’. Damen wanted to remove Laurent’s clothes if just to make sure there weren’t any protruding bones. 

He stayed on his path down Laurent’s neck, and Laurent unconsciously tipped his head to allow Damen further access to the soft skin of his throat. The only clues Damen had of knowing Laurent enjoyed the attention were the small changes in his breathing. 

He kissed Laurent, and this time his mouth opened further to allow the slide of tongues. Laurent moved in against him without any prodding and rested a hand on Damen’s shoulder.

Damen was pushed onto his back and Laurent climbed on top to straddle his hips.

“I’m fairly certain people don’t just kiss in brothels,” Laurent said his face warmly colored.

“I doubt you can lift your arms over your head let alone remove any clothing.”

“I don’t think one of us remaining fully clothed would be considered abnormal.”

“My pants are not coming off while we’re being watched,” Damen said and didn’t even want to be reminded someone could be viewing them in these intimate moments. He was surprised this hiding in plain sight idea was even working.

“There are still at least two minutes left. What do you propose?”

“You’re on top,” Damen said. He would have rolled Laurent to switch positions but wasn’t sure he could do it without hurting him.

Laurent looked like he didn’t know what to do. He had placed himself in a position of control but didn’t seem to know how to proceed.

Damen levered himself up and they were back where they had started with Laurent straddling his lap. He steadied Laurent with hands on his waist. His body warm and stiff.

“You’re still on top,” Damen reminded him.

Laurent’s cheeks darkened further, “I’m not very experienced,” he admitted the blue eyes avoiding Damen’s.

“Kiss me,” Damen said.

Damen could pull the blond head down for a kiss but had been trying to be very careful in not forcing Laurent to do anything he didn’t want to.

He was overly aware of Laurent’s focus on him and was a little surprised when Laurent inclined his head. It was only a brush of lips, but Laurent had closed his eyes before leaning in and the sight made Damen’s chest constrict. The full lips and straight jaw were more emphasized without the blue eyes monopolizing the attention of Laurent’s face.

Damen further mussed the blond hair by replacing his hand at the nape of Laurent’s neck. In response, Laurent with eyes still closed, pressed in for another kiss. His hands wandered up Damen’s arms and he was pushed onto his back again. This time Laurent followed him down, his body against Damen’s. The kiss continued, a little more rushed, a little more heated, Laurent had stopped hesitating and had just given in.

Damen had managed to extract a small noise from Laurent with his mouth on the pale arched throat when the power went off. Neither of them moved in the darkness. Damen could still feel Laurent breathing shallowly, their bodies still pressed together in an intimate tangle. 

Laurent slid off of Damen and used the flashlight on his cell phone to illuminate the room. Damen found his shirt and dressed. Laurent didn’t wait for him and Damen had to hurry after the glow quickly receding around a corner. Laurent had just taken off, with Damen still partway roused and feeling hazier than before.

The other patrons were leaving their rooms to crowd the hallway. Through the light of phone screens and flashlights, Damen saw men, clearly not patrons, shoving through the sudden group of people. Damen wasn’t sure if he had been spotted but thanks to Laurent’s plan, the power outage had created enough chaos that the goons were going to have a difficult time reaching him. 

He found Laurent in the stairwell with a white-knuckled grip on the railing and descending the stairs slowly. If any of their pursuers checked the stairs Laurent’s snail pace would get them caught. From the floor above them, a door slammed open and was proceeded by the sound of many boots on the stairs.

Without asking permission, Damen scooped up Laurent and plunged down the stairs. Laurent went rigid but didn’t verbally object. Once recovered from the shock, he shone the phone's light where Damen could see the stairs.

“Wait,” Laurent said when they exited the stairwell, and Damen had been ready to run down the hall. “There’s an exit behind you.”

“Put me down.” Laurent ordered once they had emerged into the back alley behind the building.

Laurent ducked behind the dumpster and came back wheeling his motorcycle towards the street. “Get on,” he said after he had thrown a leg over.

“Will it hold two people?” Damen hesitantly mounted behind Laurent.

“For a short distance.”

Damen wasn’t comforted. He was a little afraid to add his weight to the bike but didn’t have a choice when Laurent started the engine. The little motorcycle jerked forward, urged on by Laurent the speed demon. Damen had no other options than to wrap his arms around Laurent and hold on.


	7. Chapter 7

Damen only had to hold on to Laurent for a few miles. It was a mildly terrifying experience, but he liked being able to feel the subtle shifts in Laurent’s body when he leaned into turns or tensed to accommodate for changes in speed. However, Damen had never experienced a thigh workout like clinging to the small bike. His legs were too long to fit comfortably, his knees jabbed the back of Laurent’s thighs. He was relieved when Laurent pulled into a parking lot next to Damen’s Jeep that Damen clearly remembered leaving in a different lot.

“You hotwired my Jeep?” Damen’s legs were a little wobbly when he stepped off the motorcycle.

“Well, I didn’t have the key,” Laurent leaned against the Jeep’s bumper and folded his arms. Damen noticed it was more a point of support than an insolent arrangement. 

“How did you get in?”

“Clothes hanger.” 

“How did you get my Jeep and your motorcycle here?”

“I see the drug still hasn’t worn off. There’s a ramp in the back of your Jeep, I assume you use it for dirt bikes or quad racing considering how much mud is back there. Almost deus ex machina.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t drive,” Damen said. 

“Possibly the smartest thing you’ve said tonight,” Laurent sounded normal, but his face was white, and the arrangement of his body gave away that he didn’t feel well.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Damen asked.

“…yes,” Laurent hesitated, and Damen suspected it was a lie.

“Why don’t you come back with me,” he suggested.

“Why would I do that?”

“No one would look for you there. I need someone to drive me home and you’re going to need help with first aid and stuff.”

Laurent looked away over the quiet parking lot. His profile was lit only by streetlights, but the low light didn’t hide the bruise or sepia smudges beneath his eyes. “Alright,” he agreed.

“Good,” Damen smiled.

Laurent used the clothes hangar again to break into Damen’s Jeep, because, somewhere in his catatonic state, Damen’s keys had been taken or lost. Laurent had been preparing to slide the ramp out from the back to load his bike, until Damen picked up the motorcycle by himself and laid it inside the Jeep. Laurent watched this with lifted eyebrows.

Damen observed Laurent duck under the steering column and hot wire his Jeep then take his place in the driver’s seat. What experience Laurent had shifting gears on a motorcycle, did not transfer well into driving the six-speed. Damen was amused by Laurent’s flushed expression when he’d grind gears or stall behind a stoplight. He improved quickly after some instruction from Damen and the last few miles went by smoothly.

“I don’t have a driver’s license,” Laurent said once the Jeep was tucked in the parking garage adjacent to Karthas’ Apartments.

“What?”

“I’ve only ever needed a motorcycle license.” 

“It shows,” Damen had slung Laurent’s duffle bag across his shoulders after Laurent had tried to carry it himself.

The lobby was quiet in the early AM hours, still, Laurent covered his head with the hood and did his best not to limp. Standing still almost seemed worse for him, he had carefully curled his arms around his thorax to support his ribs. The adrenaline that had kept him going had worn off. His breathing was abnormal, and Damen eyed him half expecting him to collapse.  
They had to knock on Nikandros’ door because Damen’s apartment key had been on the same ring as his Jeep key. It took several minutes of intermittent knocking for Nikandros to finally open the door.

“Oh my god, I thought we got rid of him,” Nikandros rubbed at his face.

“Long story. I need the key to my apartment.”

Nikandros grumbled something and shuffled away.

“How many people have a key to your apartment?” Laurent asked.

“Why? Do you want one?”

Laurent took a breath in preparation for some retort but ended up stifling a cough of pain.

“Is he supposed to be that pale?” Nikandros asked when he returned.

“Do you have anything stronger than Advil?” Damen asked Nikandros.

“I don’t but Makedon has a collection of things.”

“Makedon lives several blocks away how is that useful?”

Nikandros shrugged and looked at Laurent who didn’t appear fully present. “The best I have is Suboxone,” he said.

“Doesn't that make you loopy?”

“It’s an opioid medication, it will help with pain but there might be odd side effects.”

They both looked at Laurent, he seemed to be listening only distantly. His eyes were hazy. He swayed a little and Damen was once again ready to catch him. He probably shouldn’t have been conscious but was holding on by force of will.

“Laurent?” Damen asked.

“I’ll take it,” his voice was quiet but didn’t waver.

This surprised Damen. Nikandros fetched the bottle then tossed it into Laurent’s fumbling hands. In the elevator, Laurent dry swallowed two of the pills.

Damen was unlocking his apartment when the drug took effect, from his peripheral he saw Laurent’s legs give out. He had been watching for this, but of course, it happened when his hands were busy. Damen caught him by the wrist an instant before he struck the floor. For a fluttering heartbeat, he worried he had jerked Laurent’s right arm and torn the stitches but was lucky and had grabbed his left. Laurent still exhaled in pain when he was pulled up so Damen could get an arm around his waist.

Damen had carried Laurent down a flight of stairs only an hour or so ago. This was more intimate. There was no objection when Laurent was scooped up in a bridal carry, his soft and compliant body pressed warmly to Damen's, with the blond head resting against his shoulder. 

There was an odd pricking in Damen’s chest that had to be ignored in order to gently maneuver Laurent into the bedroom.

“I had thought I escaped this place but now I’m returning and under similar circumstances,” Laurent breathed out when he collapsed onto the mattress.

“You’re not trapped here, and I let you go you didn’t escape.”

“’Letting me go’ implies I needed to be set free, thus held against my will.”

“You agreed to come back here I didn’t kidnap you,” Damen stated this loudly from the other room while he searched for the first aid kit.

“You didn’t kidnap me ‘this time’.”

Damen rolled his eyes where Laurent couldn’t see. He had been barely breathing a few minutes ago but a little pain relief and he was back to being abrasive.

“If you think I kidnapped instead of rescued you why did you help me escape?” Damen asked when he returned with ice packs and first aid kit.

“I— didn’t want you thinking I owed you a favor.”

Damen shook his head, “Give me that switchblade in your pocket.”

Laurent hesitated before lifting an arm to dig into his jeans, the movement took extra effort, his limbs heavy with the drug.

“I didn’t help you so you would owe me a favor,” Damen said and cut away the duct tape around Laurent’s boot. He discarded the tape and plastic bottle remnants that had been used for support. Damen appreciated the ingenuity of the makeshift splint.

“Co-leader of the Aikelons helps the runaway nephew of the Veretian mob boss with no reason other than the goodness of your heart?”

“You’re not really that cynical,” Damen said. He held Laurent’s ankle gently as he undid the laces of his black boot.

“Aren’t I?”

“No, I don’t think so. You risked actual capture or worse to help me, while probably in enough pain that you should have been down for the count. You kept going like a mini terminator.”

Laurent snorted. Damen removed the boot and then the sock. The ankle had swollen to about the size of a grapefruit and was hot with excess blood.

“Nothing seems deformed, there’s no bruising or discoloring, I think it’s just a bad twist or light strain.”

“I told you nothing was broken,” Laurent’s voice had slurred a little. Damen couldn’t see his face from where he lay flat on the bed. He began to bind Laurent’s ankle with a compression wrap and an ice pack.

“It was the first time I’d killed someone,” Laurent’s voice was quiet in a sleepy way.

Damen paused. The thought hadn’t occurred to him that Laurent might not have killed before, and he didn’t know what to say. He knew he wanted to look at the road rash on Laurent’s knee but asking to remove his pants after that confession probably wasn’t the right thing to do. 

Damen sat on the bed next to Laurent. “I guess I should have given you a chance to shower before I wrapped your ankle.”

Laurent rolled his head from side to side in a drowsy head shake, “I’m not sure I’m capable of standing at the moment. Which means there’s no reason for me to wake up to find myself tied to the bed.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” Damen had to resist touching the strands of blond that haloed Laurent’s face. “Can I check your shoulder and ribs?”

“You mean can you take off my clothes. If you wait until I pass out you won’t have to ask consent, isn’t that what you did last night?”

“Technically I wasn’t the one to take your pants off.”

“I didn’t realize being an accomplice is no longer a crime, I’ll have to remember that if I ever take the bar exam.” 

Damen was ready to give up and leave to take care of himself when Laurent lifted himself into a sitting position. Slowly he began to pry the hoodie off. 

“You can help,” he said. Damen was getting whiplash from this back and forth but assisted him in getting the hoodie over his head and off his arms. Underneath Laurent still wore the sweater with the hole from where he had been stabbed and that came off as well without any hesitation.  
Laurent looked down at himself with interest, it was also his first time seeing the damage. Damen couldn’t decide which looked more painful. The thick spread of scabbing over the elbow or the purple and black bruises billowing across his ribcage. On the other shoulder, blood had seeped through the bandages, enough so that Damen suspected the stitches had been torn.

“What hurts the most?” Damen asked a little overwhelmed and unsure where to start.

“Nothing at the moment,” Laurent laid back down on his back.

“What did hurt the most?” Damen sighed. He had thought having a conversation with Laurent sober was tedious.

“Ribs, I think. Not at first, it came on progressively.”

Damen gently spread a hand over the bruised skin, he had some experience with broken ribs and internal bleeding but not enough to know by sight and touch if anything was broken. Laurent stiffened under his hand, the skin going taut with goosebumps. He was underweight from a summer spent living like a fugitive and it was easy to see the outline of ribs. They all appeared to be in the right place, but it didn't mean there couldn't be fractures.

“Have you felt nauseated or dizzy?” Damen knew these were signs of internal bleeding. It was also possible his lungs were bruised.

“Not before taking the Suboxone.”

“You should probably go to a hospital.”

“No. It’s just bruised.”

“Fine, but if you die don’t turn it back around on me like it’s somehow my fault.”

“No promises.”

Damen spent the next hour cleaning blood from pale skin, bandaging and rebandaging wounds, then wrapping his side with icepacks. Laurent stayed mostly quiet only occasionally criticizing his work. Damen gave him one of his white undershirts. Laurent had pointed out he had his own clothes in the duffle bag, but Damen’s shirt was loose enough to accommodate the extra protuberance of icepacks wrapped around his ribs and was less strain on the shoulder to put on.

“What about your knee?” Damen asked implying that Laurent was going to have to remove his pants.

“Well since I showered here this morning, and didn’t have any of my own clothes, I haven’t been wearing underwear.”

Damen choked.

“Give me a pair from my bag,” Laurent said.

Instead, Damen dropped the duffle bag next to Laurent so he could find his own underwear.  
Laurent raised an eyebrow, “Afraid of my unmentionables?”

“Of all the things I’ve been criticized for tonight picking out underwear is not going to be one of them.”

“Leave me your little first aid supplies and I’ll see to it myself,” Laurent said.

Damen left Laurent alone and went to shower. He passed through the kitchen driven by instinct. It had been hours, almost an entire day since they had eaten, but it felt too late to eat anything substantial. If he had been alone, he would have collapsed into his bed and slept, but he only had the couch to look forward to and he could hear that Laurent hadn’t passed out from the drugs yet. So, Damen took two bottles of Gatorade from the fridge and checked that Laurent was decent before he entered. He hadn’t put pants on, only dressed in dark boxer briefs and Damen’s white shirt. Laurent had moved to claim the spot where Damen usually slept.

“Red or blue?” Damen asked.

“Red,” Laurent said.

Damen tossed the Gatorade and sat next to him on the bed. Laurent pressed the chilled bottle to his forehead and Damen looked over Laurent’s bare leg where he had wrapped his knee in gauze and pressed the last icepack to his hip. The slender thigh had a smattering of dark bruises along the outside.

“How are you feeling?” Damen tore his eyes away from the bare expanse of pale skin and up to the blue eyes that had been watching him.

“The pain is mostly subdued, but the effects of the drug are not especially pleasant, it’s difficult to believe this is so highly addictive.” Laurent leaned back onto the pillows with eyes closed.

“Are you feverish?” Damen brushed the bottle away from Laurent’s forehead in favor of placing his own hand there. The blue eyes opened to look up at Damen leaning over him.

“You are kind of hot,” Damen said.

“Usually, I’m referred to as ‘super hot’ or ‘smoking hot’.”

Damen found himself laughing, “I don’t know, in your current condition I may have to rank you as just hot. Road rash isn’t especially sexy.”

Laurent appeared a little startled and Damen watched him control his reaction from a more genuine amusement to a cool curl of lips.

“It didn’t seem to bother you earlier,” he said.

“It doesn’t bother me, but breathing is typically a prerequisite for a ‘smoking hot’ ranking.” 

“I’ll still have the scars,” Laurent said with Damen still leaning over him. He had spoken in the same tone he had used when he said: “It was the first time I’d killed someone.”

“It’s hard to tell how some things will heal, it may not be noticeable at all.” Damen tried to match Laurent’s almost solemn tone. “Everything heals with time.”

They gazed at each other from only a few inches apart. Damen remembered Laurent leaning in to kiss him with eyes closed. The flutter of golden eyelashes and soft press of lips.

Damen sat up. The moment had become too much but moving away didn’t lessen the confusing ache in his chest. 

“I’ll let you sleep,” Damen said and went to stand.

Laurent sat up, “Wait- I don’t mean to put you out twice. The bed is big enough to accommodate us both.”

“Really?” Damen asked. 

“Yes,” Laurent avoided Damen’s eyes and opened the Gatorade to take a drink.

Damen sat back down and followed suit to drink his Gatorade, “You should make up your mind on whether you’re inconveniencing me or a kidnap victim.”

He heard Laurent exhale a small laugh from behind him. “Maybe the Stockholm syndrome is kicking in.”

Damen laughed and glanced back to see Laurent hide a smile behind the bottle. Again Damen felt that inexplicable warmth in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't said it for a few chapters, so a quick thank you to those of you read this. If not for the likes and comments I would have lost the inspiration to continue long ago.


	8. Chapter 8

Damen was alone when he woke, a noise on the other side of the apartment startled him until he remembered his guest.

He stumbled out to find that Laurent had turned his living room coffee table into something out of a spy movie.

“Is this why your duffle bag was so heavy?” Damen surveyed the spread of blinking gadgets surrounding a large laptop.

“There are a few books in there as well.” Laurent had dressed. He wore his own pair of joggers and socks but had taken another one of Damen’s sweatshirts and rolled up the sleeves in order to use his hands.

“Are you cold?” Damen asked who felt warm in just a shirt and boxers. 

“That feverish side effect hasn’t worn off,” Laurent said focused on his computer. Damen saw nothing comprehensible on the screen, it was all a slide of binary and code.

“Are you sure it’s a side effect and not an infection?”

“It only starts after I take the Suboxone.”

“That was-” Damen looked at the clock, “almost eight hours ago.”

“I took one when I got up.”

“You should be careful with those, it’s not technically an analgesic,” Damen advised.

“I already said that the side effects don’t warrant the dependency.”

Damen thought of Laurent preferring to deal with a fever rather than the pain. Damen had taken a few beatings in his lifetime and the few days after were usually the worst. The pain had likely returned with a stiffness, and at worse a seizing, of the abused muscles. Since the majority of the bruising and punished muscle covered his ribs, Laurent had probably woken unable to breathe.

“I might have made breakfast, but your pantry is virtually empty,” Laurent said.

“I’ll get groceries.”

“I’ll go with you.”

There followed a tedious argument on whether Laurent should be out in public, especially in his condition. Damen argued he wouldn’t be able to run if something happened. Laurent, however, was adamant that if he wasn’t being held hostage he wasn’t going to be confined indoors. Damen gave in.

Laurent probably didn’t look immediately recognizable. If Jokaste had circulated the boarding school picture it would take more than an initial glance to recognize this Laurent, with bruised cheek, longer unorganized hair, and gym clothing. He didn’t match the refined look from the photo.

Damen noticed Laurent packing some of his gadgets into the satchel and suspected this wasn’t going to be just a grocery run.

He was correct. 

Damen drove, using his spare Jeep key, but Laurent directed him away from the grocery store. His instructions had them parked across from the building, the brothel, Damen had been held prisoner the night before.

“Why are we here?” Damen asked.

“You’ll see in a minute.”

Laurent unpacked his bag. A second smaller laptop was powered on and other items removed to be set up or plugged into the computer. A small box with a long antenna was placed on the dashboard.

“Give me your phone,” Laurent said. Hesitantly Damen handed over his cell phone. Laurent took the phone apart to replace the sim card with one he had removed from a plastic case full of extra cards.

Laurent turned the phone on, dialed a number, and left it on speaker so he could use his hands to tap at the computer. Damen listened to it ring before a young male answered, 

“Hello?”

“Did you use the LAN Turtle on your father’s computer?” Laurent asked.

There was a pause on the other line, “Laurent. I thought you got an A in etiquette class, but you don’t even know how to begin a phone conversation. It's been six months of radio silence, and not even a fucking 'hello'?”

“Just answer the question, Aimeric,” Laurent said. Damen could see Laurent running programs on the little laptop. The device on the dash beeped and lit up.

Aimeric sighed, “Yes, I did, but not the Turtle you currently have. I used mine.”

“Then why did you want to borrow mine?” Laurent had a tangle of cords on his lap, interlocking with various blinking gadgets.

“Because I thought you had used it on the headmaster’s computer.”

“No, you know I used the Pineapple.”

“Do you still have access?” Aimeric asked.

“Do you still have the Turtle with your father’s files?”

“Yes, and I’ll give it to you, but I want you to access the school’s mainframe for me.”  
Laurent stopped typing to listen to the clicking of computer keys coming from the other side of the phone, “Are you tracing my call?”

“Aren’t you tracing mine?” Aimeric asked.

“Why would I need to trace you?” Laurent asked. Damen could see Laurent’s screen well enough to tell that he was tracking _something_. A map with a blinking dot signaling a location had been segregated to a corner of the screen.

“You shouldn’t need to, but we were roommates for two years, and I know how you work even if you’ll deny it.”

“Then you should know I would use a replacement sim card.”

“Obviously, but I know where you are right now. Has being a teen runaway increased your libido? Or were you paying for sex this whole time while keeping the illusion of the untouchable wet dream?” Aimeric said. Laurent didn’t seem particularly worried that their location was now known but Damen realized his Jeep had fewer weapons. What had Laurent done with his Beretta?

Laurent glared at his laptop screen “Why do you want access to the school’s network?”

“Econ prof is riding my ass only giving me C’s.”

“I thought letting professors ride your ass was how you got A’s,” Laurent said.

“Wow, how long have you been waiting to use that one? My midterm grade is going to be a C and dad will beat me. I need it changed,” Aimeric said.

Laurent closed his eyes and shook his head, either at Aimeric or whatever the computer was telling him. “I’ll change your grade if you bring me the Turtle. Did you get your hands on my computer?”

“Which one?”

“The one I built with the Intel Core i9,” Laurent said distracted. Damen had quietly watched a loading bar slowly make progress across the screen throughout the conversation. It had finally hit a 100% and files began to load and pop up in rapid succession.

“You left that behind?”

“It wouldn’t exactly fit in a bag,” Laurent scanned all of the incoming information and began to save everything to an external drive.

“Well, now that I know you don’t have it, I’m definitely going to find it.”

“Good luck getting through my firewall. When can you get me the Turtle?”

“We’re going to the Chastillon club Friday night. You can meet me there. Speaking of I need you to make a fake ID.”

“You are perfectly capable of doing that yourself. I don’t have the printer for that anyway.” Laurent said.

“Nothing matches your quality. I sent the headshot. You make it I’ll print it.”  
Damen saw the email appear on the screen. Laurent opened the attachment and scoffed at the picture of the boy in the same boarding school uniform Laurent had worn in the picture Jokaste had shown him.

“The moron is wearing his school uniform,” Laurent said. Damen was somewhere between baffled and fascinated with the paradox Laurent was performing. His voice carried the right inflections necessary to converse with Aimeric but none of that carried over into body language or facial expression. He was hiding his thoughts or emotions. There was something deeper to the conversation than just insults and bartering.

“Which is why I need you to do it, you’re better with Photoshop.”

“I’ll do it if I have time,” Laurent said with a sigh.

“Thank you, and don't be such an asshole. I could, after all, tell my dad you’ve hacked into one of his work networks and are currently downloading all of his files.”

"What sort of _friend_ would you be then?"

“One that knows how to communicate. See you Friday, bitch,” Aimeric hung up.

Damen was a little dizzy from listening to the hostile conversation and felt an unexpected relief to have the Jeep fall into silence. The only sign Laurent gave that the conversation had some type of impact on him was the line between his eyebrows.

Laurent replaced the sim card and returned the phone to Damen.

“Can we go?” Damen asked.

“After this is finished,” Laurent tapped another loading bar on the screen.

“Are you actually downloading all of the files from that building?”

“I already did, right now I’m deleting everything on the network.”

“What’s the point in erasing everything?”

“There’s a lot of security footage of us and it will slow down their operation. Not to mention potentially erasing any outstanding debts from their _employees_.”

“How did you manage all of this?” Damen didn’t understand a majority of the tech talk, he used his computer primarily for email and YouTube. 

“Last night before I rescued you, I found one of the computers in the front office. I used the packet squirrel which allows me remote access to their network, and that thing,” Laurent pointed to the device on the dash, “basic Wi-Fi hacking adaptor. So, I also downloaded files, from every computer and phone connected to the building’s internet to make sure I get everything.”

“That’s how you set the timer for the power to go off? You hacked one of the computers?”

“Sort of.”

“Should you be worried about Aimeric knowing you’re doing this?”

“It’s not going to be a secret for very long.”

“Who is Aimeric’s father?” Damen asked. Laurent was focused on his new assortment of files and had been distractedly answering questions and Damen took advantage of this. 

“Guion. You probably met him last night if you remember anything from your time inside.”

“Not much before you showed up. I remember hearing the name.”

“It’s finished,” Laurent said. Damen started the Jeep eager to have something to do. “The problem with packet squirrels is they have to be attached to the computer within the network. That’s sixty dollars I left in there.” Laurent watched the building pass by.

“Sorry,” Damen said unsure what else to say.

“Aimeric will undoubtedly come to collect it even though he doesn't have the patience to program them. You can go get your groceries.”

“How did you learn to do this sort of thing?” Damen asked. 

“I taught myself, it was a productive distraction after—” Laurent took a breath seeming to realize his mouth was going unchecked. “Aimeric learned from watching me while we were roommates but was only interested in the basics and using my equipment.”

Damen was piecing it together. Laurent had developed skills that would get him access to police files and security footage. Or at least into the emails of people who might know what went wrong during the shootout that Auguste had been killed in. He had probably sold fake IDs for funds to buy his equipment. 

Now Laurent was cyber ransacking Veretian offices, collecting information, and destroying data.

“What are you doing with the information? The files and stuff I mean,” Damen asked.

“I made a program that searches for keywords in documents, so I don’t have to read everything if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“I’m—” Laurent looked up from the screen his brows furrowing as his eyes adjusted to the change in light. He took a moment to decide whether he wanted to continue. “I’m assembling a dossier of crimes, that can’t be inadmissible by a court, in order to send my uncle to prison.”

Damen exhaled, “No wonder he wants to kill you.”

Laurent made a little “Hm,” sound and turned to look out the window.

“What if something happens to you?” Damen asked.

“I have external drives hidden around that I update as needed, as well as encrypted files uploaded to my personal server.” 

"Okay, but what made you want to take down your uncle?"

Laurent paused, it was a heavy moment of silence encased by some mood Damen didn't quite understand. Laurent had been somber since the phone call. He didn’t interrupt, letting Laurent decide whether to continue. “There’s someone— someone I’m trying to help by doing this. I guess if I fail, he may continue what I’ve done, but at that point...” Laurent didn't continue the thought.

“Who is he?” Damen asked.

Laurent was quiet for another stretch of time, still turned away from Damen and towards the window. “Nicaise.” He said finally. “He’s twelve. My uncle has custody of him.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Yes.” It was a definitive statement that didn’t leave room for questions or doubt.

Rain on the windshield was the loudest sound in the Jeep to and from the grocery store. Laurent had limped through the store making Damen trail after him while he picked out the groceries.

Damen could tell the pain killer was wearing off. In the passenger seat, Laurent hugged himself, arms around his ribs, and shoulders slightly hunched. His focus was directed out the window which allowed Damen to observe him without Laurent seeming to notice. At any stop the Jeep came to Damen took the opportunity to check on him. A light mist of sweat dampened the skin along the blond hairline and Damen had to watch carefully for the shallow rise of his chest with the careful intake of air. 

Damen made a decision. He turned the Jeep away from his apartments. It was a few blocks of traveling in the wrong direction that Laurent noticed. He aimed a look of confusion at Damen but didn’t speak. Damen had thought Laurent’s silence was spawned from reflection by what had been shared but Laurent’s strong sense of preservation had kept him quiet to conserve oxygen.

“You aren’t being kidnapped. I know where I can get better pain killers,” Damen said anticipating what Laurent would ask.

Damen left Laurent in the Jeep, he was nervous about leaving him alone, but he probably still had the Beretta somewhere accessible.  
The club Makedon managed had a skeleton crew present to prepare for the evening crowd. It took Damen a few tries before he found an employee who recognized him and was willing and capable to unlock Makedon’s office door. Damen found a supply of medicine bottles in one of the file cabinets. Makedon had been shot and stabbed more than anyone Damen knew and had a various assortment of drugs stashed any place he frequented. Some of the bottles contained drugs Damen hadn’t even heard of but he finally found a bottle of morphine with about 20 pills rattling inside. He left a note so Makedon would know who had taken the drugs.

Laurent took the pills after Damen gave him the bottle. They took longer to work than the Suboxone, Laurent limped slowly after Damen from the Jeep to the apartment. He would have helped Laurent walk but had to carry the groceries by himself. 

Laurent went to the couch while Damen put away the groceries and began to heat up soup for their lunch. He brought Laurent a bowl and bottle of water and sat next to him on the couch with his own meal in hand. Laurent had curled up with knees to his chin watching programs run on his computer screen, it was an oddly vulnerable and endearing position but he had to uncurl himself to take the bowl.

Damen looked over the assortment of gadgets with new respect and concern. Laurent had stolen information from 100 feet away from a building, what havoc could he wreak from inside one?

“Have you already hacked into ‘the building’s server’ or whatever?” Damen asked.

“I’ve hacked into the Wi-Fi connection so I can use the internet, but I haven’t done anything else yet.”

Damen didn’t miss the ‘yet’, “You could have asked for the password.”

“You were asleep.”

After several minutes Damen turned on the TV to fill the silence. He didn’t change the channel from National Geographic and let it play in the background.

“Is the soup okay?” Damen asked. Laurent had mostly picked at it, the bowl still nearly full.

“Yes,” Laurent made an effort to swallow more of the broth. Laurent, aware Damen was watching him said, “I’m— not sure I’m thinking clearly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel… calm,” Laurent said this like it was an inconceivable feeling.

“That’s the morphine,” Damen said with a light laugh. This response didn’t placate Laurent, his gaze was a little vacant, the blue eyes didn’t have their usual bite.

“I assume tiredness or drowsiness is also a side effect.”

“Sometimes,” Damen said.

Laurent couldn’t concentrate on any one thing for too long, Damen watched with amusement as Laurent fought to be irritated with the calming side effect. It took him twice as long as Damen to finish the meal. Damen watched Laurent lose focus, only to realize he had spaced out then aggressively attempt to concentrate. Eventually, Laurent’s face had smoothed out from the angry rumpled expression of forced concentration to a blank stare and he startled when Damen took the empty bowl from his hands.

“Hey space cadet, go take a nap or something,” Damen said and was a little surprised that Laurent took the advice and limped off the to the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hacking stuff is all learned from research so if I did something blatantly wrong let me know.  



	9. Chapter 9

Damen blocked the incoming punch with his forearm, then threw his own jab that Nikandros deflected. 

“So, you’ve become a house nurse,” Nik said.

“It’s not like that,” Damen blocked another punch. 

“You’re not taking care of him while he’s in a morphine coma?”

“What do you think I should have done with him?” 

Nik took a step back and adjusted his boxing gloves, “Dropped him off at a hospital. He needs morphine to breathe, his lung is probably bruised.”

“I don’t think he has insurance,” Damen checked the lacing on his own gloves appreciative of the break. Sparring with Nikandros was usually an enjoyable challenge where Damen didn’t have to hold back or limit himself. There were few other people in the area who had learned as many different fighting techniques as himself and Nik. In high school they had joined the wrestling team together, in college had learned kickboxing along with some martial arts, and recently they had taken up learning MMA fighting. When sparring they used the thick padded boxing gloves to avoid injury. Though occasionally there would be a black eye or split lip followed by an apology. Today was one of those days Damen expected to leave with an assembly of bruises.

“There is such a thing as a free clinic,” Nikandros retook his defensive stance.

“I don’t mind that he’s staying at my apartment,” a jab came for Damen’s nose that he dodged.

“You never mind a blond in your bed,” Nikandros had kept quiet for the first thirty minutes of the fight expressing his irritation by trying to land a blow. Damen almost wished he had continued the explosive silence. “How do you think Kastor is going to react if he finds out you’re harboring a Veretian?”

“He was stabbed and then in a motorcycle accident, I’m just giving him a place to recover. Plus, he’s slept the past two days because of the morphine. He’s hardly a threat.” Damen had to block two punches while speaking. He had taken the defensive while Nik worked out his aggressions.

Damen hadn’t told Nikandros about Laurent’s ability to steal information from multiple computers in one sitting. Just being a Veretian was enough of a sin. Knowing Laurent was hazardous for more than just his bloodline might send him over the edge.

“He has a price on his head, there’s something threatening about him,” Nik feinted and landed a blow on Damen’s jaw.

Damen had been caught off guard, it was the first he had heard of Laurent having a price on his head.

“Who put the hit out?”

“The Veretian boss I assume,” Nik hadn’t let up and Damen had to concentrate on his defense. 

“When?” 

“Few days ago. 10,000 alive, 7,000 dead.” 

Damen grunted as he took a hook to the side. Nik finally gave him a chance to catch his breath.

A few days ago, Damen had given Laurent reason to break into a Veretian building and plant a hacking device that later gave him access to every file in the building. Laurent hadn’t looked over the data since the morphine had kept him mostly unconscious, but his uncle must feel threatened to offer $10,000.

“How did you find out about the hit?”

“I would say most of the city knows with a reward like that.” Nikandros took the offensive again. It was rumored Laurent had been hiding in Akielon territory. Having Laurent returned to him must be more important to the Veretian mob boss than possibly paying an Akielon that amount of money.

“If he’s an enemy to the Veretians wouldn’t that make him an ally to us? The enemy of my enemy and what not?” Damen tried to reason.

“No,” Nik clenched his jaw and Damen wasn’t able to reply, too busy blocking and dodging attacks.

Damen needed the physical distraction. Neither he nor Nikandros spoke for the next few rounds and Damen was able to repay the blows he had been given as well as take a few more. Eventually, they were separated for getting too intense in the training ring and paired with other fighters. 

They both won all of their separate matches. After, Damen still craved more physical exertion and Nik followed him to the weight room for another hour exercise. The topic of Laurent and Veretians was dropped in favor of carefully spotting the other.

Once satisfied and pleasantly languid from bodily exhaustion, they showered and left in Nik’s Mercedes. 

Damen wasn’t looking forward to what came next.

One of the responsibilities he had avoided since his father had passed, was checking on Akielon owned businesses. Money and reports could be filed electronically, which almost negated in-person inspections, but reports could lie. He remembered Laurent’s disgust when it came to the red-light district and tried to see it how Laurent would. ‘_They’re so indebted after they start it’s nearly impossible to get out._’ Damen had grown up with this as his reality and hadn’t thought to question the ethics or morality.

“Have you heard of the workers being drugged to take more clients?” Damen asked on their way out of the las business of the day.

“No? What gave you that idea?” Nikandros said.

“Just something I’d heard,” Damen said frowning.

Nikandros sighed, “I realize, even if you don’t, that you’re still mourning your father. Everyone’s noticed your lack of drive. Jokaste has expounded on the fact that you have been less than responsible, but since some of that is partly her fault and she’s being called worse than a ‘bed hopper’ no one is paying much attention to her opinion.”

“You did warn me about her,” Damen owned. Nikandros had expressed a dislike for Jokaste months ago and he had ignored the advice. Damen realized then that remembering the nights spent with Jokaste while his father lay dying, did not have the same punch they had a week ago.

“And I’m warning you now, you’re feeling lost and trying to help the Veretian as something to do but it’s not going to work out well. Just fuck him and get rid of him before you get in trouble.”

Typically, Damen enjoyed Nikandros’ company, they had grown up together and had always been close, but today they quietly and mutually decided to part ways early by opting to get takeout rather than share a meal together. Damen ignored Nik’s judgment as he ordered enough food for two people.

Laurent was where Damen had last seen him, crumpled gracefully amidst the blankets of Damen’s bed. The extraordinary will power Damen had witnessed was not strong enough to oppose the drowsy effect of the morphine despite Laurent trying his best every time he was required to take another pill. Damen didn’t think Laurent sleeping through the healing process was a bad thing so long as he was awake long enough to eat and drink. He also suspected Laurent hadn’t slept much over the summer while on the run from his uncle.

Despite the restless need to do more than stay in his apartment, Damen didn’t mind taking care of Laurent. At first, it had seemed he was trying to nurse a panther back to health, but when the claws were retracted, and jaw shut the panther seemed more like a kitten. Unguarded, as a result of the drug, Damen had found Laurent to be considerate, well-mannered, and sweet. Awake he was quietly abashed and diffident but given the appropriate amount of space and privacy Laurent was almost composed before coerced back to sleep.

Damen ate dinner by himself and afterward played Call of Duty to occupy his time. Almost lonely enough to risk Nik’s criticisms Damen considered texting and asking him to play. Pallas or Lydos would have been viable options if not for Sleeping Beauty in the other room. Kastor had long ago made his disinterest for videogames clear but Damen wondered if he could be convinced otherwise if he brought the console to Kastor’s apartment. He missed his brother they had barely talked or been in the same room since their father had died.

He was just picking up his cell phone, when Laurent came quietly out of the bedroom walking on bare feet. He wasn't limping, Damen could tell he still favored his left leg, but he was pleased to see the improvement.

“Hey,” Damen said carefully attempting to assess his mood. “There’s food in the fridge for you.”

He was a little surprised when Laurent sat on the other side of the couch with the freshly microwaved meal. Damen didn’t intrude on the several minutes of silence. When Laurent still didn’t retreat to his new favorite spot on the balcony Damen handed him the extra controller.

“I don’t know how. I’ve never played before,” Laurent said.

“I suspect you’ll figure it out quickly,” Damen said and was right, Laurent took a few rounds to master the controls and when he nearly beat Damen in one on one combat Damen switched the game mode to play on a team together. 

“What day is it?” Laurent asked hesitantly.

“Thursday, Damen said.

“I've slept for two days?” he said and flushed “I apologize—” Laurent began.

“You’ve already apologized more than once and you still don’t have to,” Damen told him gently. He knew Laurent was already a little embarrassed thinking he had monopolized Damen’s hospitality.

After a pause, “I’m— not used to this kind of selfless kindness. It's been a long time since—” Laurent trailed off. The confession sounded like one that still had a fraction of morphine attached, a little too intimate for a typical statement from Laurent. 

“I’ve noticed,” Damen said.

“Did I say anything I might not remember?” Laurent asked cautiously.

“You told me you liked how warm the bed was when he had slept together.” 

On the screen, Laurent’s avatar hesitated and took damage.

“I have been staying on the couch,” Damen clarified when he glanced over to see Laurent’s red face. The Suboxone hadn’t altered Laurent’s mind like the morphine had and Damen had only slept in the same room as Laurent when he had been of a more sober mindset. 

“I know, I wasn’t that far gone, and thank you. I’ve had many suggest that they would have taken advantage of me in a similar situation.”

Damen lost concentration, a bellicose response strained the controller in his hand making the plastic creaked. He took a breath unsure where the sudden anger had sprouted.

Making his tone light Damen said, “Well I know you have that Beretta hidden somewhere.”

Laurent almost smiled.

“Plus, you really need to shower.”

This time Laurent almost laughed.

-

Friday morning Laurent only took a half of a morphine tablet. He finally showered, and Damen took his clothes along with the sheets to be washed. Laurent only had the one pair of joggers, Damen had been surprised he owned the one, but the knee needed to be wrapped so the black jeans Laurent wore wouldn’t eat away at the scabs. The ankle was nearly better, Laurent had seemed pleased that his ankle bone was visible again. 

The small dose of morphine had created an unpleasant balance of pain and lethargy. Laurent hadn’t wanted any food and Damen had forced him to sip at a Gatorade for the electrolytes. Laurent had curled into the arm of the couch where his computer was balanced, head elegantly propped on his fist, and blue eyes just a little out of focus. Damen recognized the program he was using and saw Laurent was working on making the fake ID in Photoshop. It was Friday and Laurent still probably planned on meeting Aimeric at the Chastillon in Veretian territory despite his current condition.

Damen knew he needed to tell Laurent about the price on his head. Even by late afternoon he hadn’t figured out how to broach the topic and busied his hands by cooking. 

“That’s an odd smell,” Laurent had entered the kitchen to make his second pot of coffee. 

“Not typically what a chef likes to hear,” Damen said.

“I just meant I don’t recognize it. What are you making?”

“Gyros. Kind of.” Damen didn’t think his grandma would approve of him modifying her recipe so he could make them on his stovetop and not use a rotisserie. It was one of the few recipes he could make by memory.

“Have you been on the balcony?” Damen asked noticing Laurent had pulled a dark sweater over the white button-down shirt he had put on with the black jeans. Damen had liked the soft white top and how it had molded to his body from frequent wear.

“Yes,” Laurent said tilting his head in an unasked question.

“Keep the door open,” Damen suggested. 

Laurent lifted an eyebrow, but left with a mug full of coffee and without further questions. 

Damen was in the process of assembling the final product and making two separate plates of food when Laurent returned.

“I assume this is what you were being coy about,” Laurent said a hand lifted to steady the fluffy grey cat that perched on his shoulders. Damen breathed a laugh at the sight. The cat rubbed her face against Laurent’s ear, thick tail circled his neck. His hair had been thoroughly disordered from the cat’s attention, some of it horizontal from static electricity.

“She’s a balcony hopper, shows up when someone is making food,” Damen said he reached out to pet the cat’s eager head that strained upward towards his hand.

“What’s her name?” 

“I don’t know, I just know she lives three doors down,” Damen said.

“You don’t know your neighbors?” Laurent said almost teasingly, his mood seemed to improve from the surprise visit.

“Pallas calls her Nyx. Goddess of the night.”

“Greek goddess?”

“Yes.”

“So, no one knows her real name?” Laurent seemed amused.

“I guess not,” Damen smiled. Nyx took Damen’s closeness as an opportunity to leap onto his broader shoulders. Laurent stepped closer to reach the cat. Damen was too aware of the proximity. Laurent was within kissing distance stretched on his toes, blue eyes focused to the left of Damen’s head, lips parted. The urge to touch him was nearly unbearable.

“There are cat treats in the pantry,” Damen said. Laurent did as he had hoped and moved away. Damen was a little dizzy when he picked up the two plates of food and with Nyx on his shoulders, he moved to the balcony. He felt Laurent follow, more interested in the cat than Damen or the food.

Nyx was more accustomed to Damen and Laurent had fed her nearly all of the meat from his gyro to keep her attention on him. Damen wished more of the food had made it down Laurent’s throat. 

Nyx settled on Damen’s lap. Laurent had sat on the ground to interact with the cat and shifted close to Damen, Laurent’s side rested against his leg, elbow balanced on Damen's knee to scratch behind the cat’s ears. It was casual contact like leaning on a table and Damen held very still. Laurent didn’t seem entirely aware of the touch. Damen was unsure whether to call attention to it or not, it was both pleasant and terrible. 

Damen’s hand moved without his permission, “Your hair is a mess.”  
Laurent stiffened at the touch and Damen knew it was a mistake, he should have left the quiet reverie alone.

After a conscious breath, Laurent said, “You’re covered in cat fur.”

“So is your sweater,” Damen replied and missed the warmth as Laurent moved away. He stood and seemed to collect himself his gaze on the ocean.

“I’m going with you tonight,” Damen said.

Laurent said, “No.” 

Damen had anticipated this answer. He had noticed that most of Laurent's belongings and hacking devices had been returned to his duffle. He suspected Laurent planned on leaving tonight for good. The idea of him attempting to fend for himself in his current state and with the new incitement of a reward for his capture or death made Damen’s skin feel tight. Even looking at him now Damen could see the slightly awkward way Laurent held his shoulder and the controlled his breathing to minimalize the expansion of his rib cage.

“Do you still think you can’t trust me after all of this?”

“The club is in the Veretian territory the two of us together will draw too much attention.”

“You can’t go alone you need help.”

“Why is my welfare so important to you?”

Damen didn’t know how to answer. He remembered Nikandros’ words ‘_You’re feeling lost and trying to help the Veretian as something to do_’. 

“Maybe I want to see the rival gang taken out,” Damen said.

Laurent assessed him with cold blue eyes. It wasn’t a good enough reason, and Damen foresaw the argument continuing. Damen stood with the cat and transferred Nyx into Laurent’s arms. He waited until both had settled and relaxed.

“Your uncle has put a price on your head,” Damen told him. With Laurent’s attention on the cat, it was easier to say. “10,000 alive, 7,000 dead.”

Laurent looked up, eyes wide, the cat clutched a little closer to his chest. “Only 10,000?” he exhaled, a humorless shaky laugh, “I can offer ten times that to be released.”

Damen had watched Laurent control himself enough times to catch the surprise as well as something more poignant beneath. Laurent centered his attention on the cat that he had startled when his grip unintentionally tightened.

“Laurent,” Damen said and had to stop himself from reaching out. Subtly Laurent turned away with the pretense of comforting Nyx. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised since I was nearly run over a few days ago.” 

“You probably already know,” Damen said unsure what evoked the change in topic, “My father died recently. I couldn’t do anything to help him, I could only sit at his bedside and helplessly watch him die.” Laurent was looking at him, the blue eyes still a little wide. For a moment they gazed at each other. Damen was unsure if Laurent found what he was looking for when he finally turned away.

“You'll have to wear something to help you blend in,” Laurent said.

"I can do that," Damen smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a mood music person I had Hozier Sunlight (especially sunlight in the dance pit) and NFWMB on repeat.

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack,” Damen said after Laurent put two cans of Red Bull on the gas station counter.

“So long as I’m coherent,” Laurent said who had discovered hours ago that caffeine could partially counteract the ‘foggy effect’ of the morphine and had killed Damen’s bag of coffee grounds.

He paid with cash and for the umpteenth time gave Damen a look that said, _stop staring._

_Verisimilitude_. Laurent had said it when he revealed his club disguise.

“Is it a gay club?” Damen asked after a moment of staring.

“Not specifically.”

“It’s very…”

“Ostentatious? You haven’t been to a Veretian club before have you. This—” he gestured to himself, “Is mild.”

Damen reasoned with himself that he had seen Laurent nearly naked, but the outfit had a different impact, one that he couldn’t think straight enough to account for. Tight black jeans with large holes in the knees revealed fishnet beneath the pants. The shirt was just centimeters above the waistband. Simple movements exposed a pale strip of skin where the jeans pressed into the crest of hip bones.

The more he stared the more details Damen noticed. Laurent at one point moved in such a way that a navel ring was exposed, and Damen had dropped his mug. Damen didn’t think Laurent had exclusively pierced his ears for this outing which meant he carried around earrings for the lobe and helix. Another item Damen wouldn’t have expected Laurent to have was mascara. The blue eyes were fiercely accentuated by the frame of darkened lashes. The bandages were present under the fishnet and on the elbow but didn’t detract from the outfit.

“How the hell am I going to get you out of here?” Damen had asked.

Damen watched Laurent exit the store and realized the clerk was also watching him go.

“He yours?” the clerk asked as Damen prepaid for gas. Cash only. Laurent had insisted.

“No,” said Damen who couldn’t imagine Laurent belonging to anyone.

“Ya know, I’m not even gay and I’d tap that.”

Damen declined to comment. 

Laurent didn’t have much to work with when it came to Damen’s outfit. He had found a pair of jeans Damen had worn in high school, they were soft and faded from excessive wear, but he had filled out quite a bit since then and they only barely fit. On top of that was a white shirt and black leather jacket.

“It will have to do,” Laurent had said. 

One can of Red Bull was gone when Damen finally found a parking spot near the Chastillon Club. Damen didn’t think to wait in line like everyone else. It was Laurent who reminded him to act as a regular patron and join the queue.

“It won’t be a long wait, we’re already attracting attention,” Laurent folded his arms, goosebumps blanketed the revealed skin. The large overcoat he had worn to cover his outfit on the way out of the apartments had been left in the Jeep.

“_You_ are attracting attention,” Damen clarified. 

Laurent looked up with an eyebrow lifted, a skeptical expression, “_Both_ of us,” he said. “You’re hard not to notice.”

“Is that another ‘giant’ joke?” he asked scanning the crowd. Damen had risked stashing a Luger in his boot. The pistol was the smallest he owned, almost too small for his hand but fit well in his boot. It would be missed in a careless pat down but wouldn’t be easy to get to if things went wrong too quickly.

“No. I mean that—” Laurent hesitated, “you’re attractive.” He stated it as if commenting on the weather but wouldn’t meet Damen’s eyes.

Damen grinned, the night suddenly a little warmer, his back straightened with gratification. He took a few moments to absorb and remember the words as well as Laurent’s rosy face. Damen was about to reply but the bouncers had spotted them. Laurent linked his elbow with Damen’s to keep them connected as they were waved forward. The two large men safeguarding the entrance didn’t ask for an ID from either of them and allowed an 18-year-old to enter unchecked. Laurent didn't seem surprised that he had been allowed in based on appearance alone.

The interior was ostentatious. Damen had heard of the ornate Veretian clubs, but he still wasn’t prepared for the explicit sensuality. The atmosphere was of languid eroticism, the opposite of what he was used to. Akielon clubs were high energy and simple, devoted to music and dancing. 

The Chastillon was hazy with dim lights. The brightest points were the bar and DJ booth made of clear glass and lit from the inside with white light to contrast the soft flutter of colorful strobes illuminating the dance pit. It was a literal pit, two steps below floor level, that could be looked down on from leather couches. Both factions engaging in a form of voyeurism. Dancers grinding and moving against each other, hands wandering over bodies. Those from the couch watched the dancers or engaged in their own activities of making out or groping, and in turn, were watched by others nearby.

“A teenager wanted to meet here?” Damen asked he didn’t know how to process the blatant sexuality taking place in the open. He stared mainly at the back of Laurent’s blond head as he followed him around the perimeter.

“Seems like the exact place a hormonal teenage boy would want to be,” Laurent said. The only sign he disliked the club was the hard set of his jaw and thin line of lips. “He has brown wavy hair, reasonably attractive, and probably tan. See anyone fitting that?” Laurent had stopped in a less crowded corner.

“I don’t think so…” Damen said. He had noticed eyes turning towards them and fingers aimed in their direction. It wasn’t like a packed dance club, there was a good size crowd, but it was an exclusive group and it wasn’t wall to wall with people where it would be easier to go unnoticed. If this was a crowd of higher class Veretians it seemed more likely that Laurent would be known and recognized.

“What’s something you wouldn’t do at a club?” Damen asked. They were going to have to find some cover.

“What I would do is a shorter list,” Laurent said lifting on to his toes to survey the room. The cell phone in his hand vibrated and he looked at the incoming text. “ETA 15.”

“We need to blend in,” Damen said, a small group had been watching them. Someone lifted a phone and aimed it in their direction. Damen stepped in front of Laurent, shielding him and bodily maneuvered him into the dimmer atmosphere of the dance pit.

Laurent was taken aback by the sudden change in environment. He flinched when dancers brushed against him. The slender attractive body suddenly appearing in their midst had drawn attention. Laurent was jostled and stumbled trying to distance himself from hands that would casually touch him. The ankle hadn’t healed enough for the amount of walking Laurent had forced on it and he was thrown off balance easily.

Damen caught Laurent and drew him close. Reflexively Laurent stiffened under Damen’s hands; muscles tight. 

“Dance with me and no one will bother you.” Damen tried to make Laurent move with him. It was a little like trying to adjust a mannequin, Laurent moved but it wasn’t easy or smooth.

“You’re thinking too much, just feel it,” Damen said amused by the wrinkle between golden brows. The music was sensual with a palpable beat and easy to move to but telling Laurent not to think seemed to evoke the opposite reaction. So far Laurent had proven proficient at everything he tried, Damen thought this might be something he was irrefutably better at.

Damen let Laurent go, hoping that with the absence of his touch Laurent might relax, but he still reacted as though this was a new situation and he hadn’t quite figured out what to do. Was it possible Laurent had never been on a dance floor before?

Damen was trying to process this when some of the other dancers moved in next to them, and then between them, separating Damen from Laurent. They had both attracted attention. Damen had been moving with the music, and after relinquishing his partner, other dancers attempted to take Laurent’s place in his arms. Damen almost regretted sliding past the two girls attempting to dance with him and back to Laurent, who hadn’t managed to flee the dance floor. A few dancers had been dispatched by an astringent blue-eyed look, but even Laurent couldn’t intimidate the entire dance floor and bodies moved in crowding him. Laurent jerked when a hand stroked his frame. He stumbled the ankle almost giving out. 

Damen caught him, fingers circling his wrist noticing the rapid pulse beneath soft skin. Damen gripped him by the hips and pulled him close. He expected Laurent to be stiff and resist him, and for a moment he was rigid, muscles so tight it must have hurt. Then incredibly Laurent exhaled and relaxed. Damen claiming him shielded him from the crowd and any unwanted touch from strangers.

Laurent dropped his head and laughed.

“What?” Damen asked.

“You keep being around every time I need ‘rescuing’.” Laurent said it ruefully, disliking the idea that he needed to be rescued.

“Well, if I had known you couldn’t dance, I wouldn’t have dragged you into the dance pit,” Damen said.

“I can dance.”

“Is that what you were doing? Looked more like an anxiety attack.”

Laurent objected with a scoff.

“Show me then,” Damen challenged and nudged Laurent closer. He was a little giddy with his thumbs against the strip of bare skin just above Laurent’s jeans. 

"I'd like to see you try and survive in a dance pit with a swollen ankle." Carefully Laurent rested his hands on Damen’s forearms and slid them up to his biceps. Laurent watched Damen’s face carefully to make sure the touch was acceptable. In response, Damen tugged Laurent even closer. With hips together Laurent matched Damen’s rhythm, finally dancing with him.

A kaleidoscope of colors lit Laurent’s skin and hair. His body warm where he was pressed against Damen. Laurent’s hands had reached his shoulders still tentatively exploring, the blue eyes focused on his face. Damen trailed a hand up along Laurent’s spine careful of any tender areas, muscles tensed reflexively under his fingers. His hand came to rest at the nape of Laurent’s neck, fingers in the soft blond hair. Helplessly Damen’s thumb stroked up and down along Laurent’s hip bone where the skin was like silk. Both of Damen’s hands were on Laurent’s skin, just the thought seemed illicit and he reveled in the feeling. 

Against him Laurent’s breathing had shallowed. Damen similarly felt out of breath. He had Laurent willingly in his arms and more relaxed than tense, he was almost lightheaded. Damen knew he was smiling but couldn’t stop. They gazed at each other and he was lost in the blue eyes highlighted by the rainbow of lights.

“You are too,” Damen said.

“What?”

“Attractive,” Damen smiled.

Laurent dropped his head on the edge of laughter, “That was 20 minutes ago.”

“It’s still true. Or did you prefer super hot?”

Laurent exhaled a laugh and looked back up at Damen, the remnants of a smile still on his mouth. Damen slid fingers along Laurent’s jaw to tilt his chin up. Deliberately, Damen lowered his head for a fleeting brush of lips. He distanced himself to check Laurent’s response. Lashes had lowered over very dark eyes and Damen instinctively held him closer. Laurent’s lips parted with a small shudder that Damen felt like a vibration against his body. It was almost unbearably intimate, and Laurent accepted it, his head still tilted up towards Damen while his breath came shallowly. Damen leaned down again. Laurent’s eyes dipped closed his open mouth a breath away. 

Laurent startled and pulled away, the pliant body stiffening with purpose. Damen had felt the phone vibrate from his proximity and Laurent stepped back to check the message.

“Aimeric is here,” Laurent said and angled the phone for Damen to see the picture that had been taken of them together with heads close. It was a blurry image, fully zoomed in and with neither of their faces distinguishable. 

With an objective in mind no one could stand in Laurent’s way. He ejected himself gracefully from the crowd and left Damen a little dazed, not only from what they had been doing but by the hasty retreat. 

Damen caught up to the two teenagers at the bar, already they seemed to be in a hostile conversation. Aimeric was as Laurent had said, reasonably attractive with brown wavy hair. He was a little taller than Laurent, even with the differences in shoe height, Laurent with his combat boots and Aimeric in brown brogues that went with the boarding school uniform. The uniform itself seemed to be the basis for Laurent’s current scorn. The bouncers seemed to be allowing anyone in.

“It attracts attention,” Aimeric said he had a drink in hand, so he had not only gotten past the bouncers but had also been served at the bar.

“Are you attempting to attract pedophiles?” Laurent asked his voice smooth and cold as glass.

“You were jailbait only five months ago, get off your high horse,” Aimeric said and eyed Damen as he approached.

“I didn’t wear a schoolboy uniform to clubs.”

“And now you look like a hooker who’s been beaten by his pimp.”

“You were my muse when I put the outfit together,” Laurent said.

The two engaged in an unfriendly staring match before Aimeric said, “I have a room,” and jerked his head in the direction he wanted them to follow. 

Laurent followed almost reluctantly, his hair still mussed where Damen’s hand had lain. He wanted nothing more than to press Laurent against the wall and continue what they had been doing, what they gloriously had been doing. It had felt like a first kiss, without the pretense of ‘hiding in plain sight’, more genuine, without performance, and it would have continued without the interruption.

Damen needed a drink and almost didn’t follow, thinking he would go to the bar instead; until he saw Laurent look back. Damen followed. 

The private room Aimeric had paid for was partitioned by a pane of one-way mirror. On the other side, a BDSM dom and sub couple performed. The sub, bound and gagged, was being whipped with a soft flogger, the sound traveled across the barrier to their side of the room.  
It was another form of voyeuristic performance art that made Damen pause in the doorway. Laurent and Aimeric didn’t react to the show and sat in the chairs facing the glass. Damen opted to stand with back against the wall, facing away from the exhibition. Aimeric looked him over again as he stood with arms crossed. Damen looked back at him. Aimeric had a calculating gaze similar to Laurent’s but Aimeric’s seemed brought on by practice and imitation rather than instinct. 

Laurent positioned himself elegantly in the chair, the pose didn’t match the outfit he wore, the fishnet obvious with the bent knees and torn jeans. It had been a few hours since he had last taken anything for the pain and his skin was pale, favoring his right side and keeping weight off the bruised hip.

“You chose this room of all the ones available?” Laurent said.

“I thought you'd like it. But it's not just for you. Although, I did think you would be deeper in hiding considering that if someone around here recognizes you they’d know it would be less of a hassle to settle for the 7,000.”

“No one is going to kill me in a crowded club,” Laurent said.

“Is that why you brought a bodyguard?” Aimeric asked.

“Did you bring the Turtle or not?” 

“I did,” Aimeric shifted and removed a small device from his pocket. Damen had expected something bigger or more impressive looking than the bulky flash drive. 

Laurent stood and gave the device to Damen, “Zip this into your pocket. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I should go with you,” Damen said who mostly wanted an excuse to leave the room and escape the sounds from the other side of the glass.

“I don’t need your help going to the restroom,” Laurent stated. 

The liquid caffeine Laurent had been downing all day was finally taking a toll. Aimeric stared at Damen. The sounds of the flogger hitting bare skin from the other side of the glass invasive in the quiet room.

“I’m not a bodyguard,” Damen said.

“I know. You’re Damianos. Typically shortened to Damen, which doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t it be Damian instead of Damen?” 

“I didn’t give myself the nickname.”

Aimeric shrugged, “So what’s he like?”

“_What’s he like_?” Damen repeated confused.

“In bed. Isn’t that why you’re helping him? He’s whoring himself out for protection?” Aimeric didn't seem particularly interested in the conversation as though he didn't believe his own statements and was talking just to fill the silence.

“No. That’s not-” Damen shook his head, “I’m helping him because he needs help.”

“Blackmail then? He hacked into something, found dirt on you, and now you’re forced to help him. Did you give him that bruise?” Aimeric took a drink from the glass he’d brought with him. It was a casual gesture, he was putting effort into an uncaring demeanor while the brown eyes scrutinized Damen intensely.

What did Aimeric think, or know, of Laurent that he expected a level of treachery needed to get people to help him? “I was at a club when I saw someone attempt to kidnap him. The kidnapper hit and stabbed him before we stopped him.”

“Sounds like Govart, he’s been wanting to stab Laurent in some form for years.” Aimeric still stared at him, trying to puzzle something together. “Why was he limping?”

“Motorcycle accident.”

“He wrecked Auguste’s bike?” Aimeric's laugh was surprised, “He must be beating himself up over that.”

“It was Auguste’s bike?”

“It’s basically the only thing of value he has of Auguste’s. Apart from some clothes he’s never going to grow into.”

“Were they close?” Damen asked. He had a chance to learn more about Laurent if Aimeric was willing to talk, or just tipsy enough to divulge more than he normally would.

“Laurent loved Auguste more than his parents,” Aimeric took another drink and fixed his eyes on the scene taking place on the other side of the glass. “Our families are close, we had things like holiday gatherings together, Laurent is nearest to my age but the only person he would spend time with was Auguste, and if not him, he would sit alone and read. Which meant I had to play by myself. At least he was nice back then.”

“He’s been somewhat nice,” Damen said. The past few days Laurent had oscillated between bitchy remarks and apologies, but he had been irrefutably kind to the cat.

Aimeric’s gaze swung back to him, “If he’s being nice it’s because he’s using you for protection. Laurent doesn’t do things without reason.”

“He was forced into the situation he’s not using me.”

“Sure,” Aimeric shrugged and finished the drink, “I suppose it could still be in him but Auguste’s death basically broke Laurent. First his parents died and then his brother, and no one has loved him since,” Aimeric said the last part in a mocking melodramatic tone. What had Laurent done to piss Aimeric off?

“What about his uncle?” Damen asked.

Aimeric laughed “Yes, he’s been playing ‘teen runaway’ for five years because his uncle _loves_ him too much. _Jesus Christ—_” Aimeric blew out a humorless laugh. He ordered another drink from the electronic menu then pulled out his phone.

Moans traveled across the glass and a different slapping noise had taken the place of the whip. Damen needed a distraction.

“Are the drinks on your tab?” Damen asked glancing at the electronic menu

“Order whatever you want it’s on my dad’s card,” Aimeric waved a hand dismissively.

“Your dad held me hostage a few days ago,” Damen said with the intent of ordering something expensive.

“I heard about that,” Aimeric said uninterested, gaze still on his phone. “Do you think you could get Laurent to stay here for another half an hour?”

“Why?”

“School group chat. Everyone wants to see last year’s celibate valedictorian in a crop top and fishnets.”

“You don’t think some of them would want to collect on 10,000-dollars? It wouldn’t be surprising if he had driven someone into turning him in for a reward like that.”

“You’re not wrong,” Aimeric said.

“You have that picture,” Damen said. 

“You can’t tell it’s him. Otherwise, he would have hacked my phone and made it self-destruct or something.”

“I still might,” Laurent said returning after a waitress with a drink tray. Laurent half reclined on the other side of the chair Damen was propped against. 

“What have you been telling him?” Laurent asked Aimeric.

“Well next in your life story would be how you ran away a few weeks before graduation imposing all of your valedictorian duties onto the runner up." Aimeric turned the fierce brown eyes onto Laurent, "Oh, and not telling anyone you were leaving so that everyone thought you were just dead in a ditch somewhere.” 

“Hendrick was only a few points behind me, and no one remembers speeches from high school after college," Laurent said ignoring the second half of the comment. 

“Which reminds me,” Aimeric shifted and pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket handing it to Laurent. Looking down Damen had a clear view of long pale fingers unfolding the envelope. Laurent went very still. It was addressed to Laurent at the boarding school, including dorm and room number. The Harvard emblem in the left corner had given him pause and briefly, he stopped breathing.

“How long have you had this?”

“It came two days after you disappeared.”

“And you didn’t attempt to contact me?”

“Yes, but you’ve been off-grid. Have you checked your school email?” Aimeric asked.

“No. I— I assume you opened it.”

“Glue erodes in the freezer,” Aimeric said.

Laurent didn’t respond and continued to stare at the envelope thumbs smoothing over the wrinkled paper.

“It doesn’t matter,” Laurent finally said, “The deadline to accept has passed.” He pulled the creased paper from the envelope and exhaled. It was an acceptance letter.

“I deferred you for a year,” Aimeric finished his drink and stood, “You owe me.” He leveled his phone at Laurent and snapped a picture while he was still too surprised to react. “Now you have a year to finish your _mission_.” To Damen, he said, “I’ll send you that picture.” 

With that Aimeric left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I don't get around to explaining my take on Aimeric's psychology within the story I'll just drop some exposition here:  
With Laurent being closest to his age Aimeric probably grew up being compared to Laurent and hearing things like "Laurent is so attractive and clever. Why don't you read more like Laurent?"  
And then being in boarding school together it probably continued with "Why don't you get good grades like Laurent? Maybe Laurent can tutor you."  
Essentially he grew up hearing "Why can't you be more like Laurent."  
So even though Aimeric is resentful of being compared to Laurent he somewhat unconsciously emulates him.  
Then spending two years together as roommates they figure out they've both been taken advantage of by Laurent's uncle (I assume that's not a spoiler since I've been staying close to canon) the revelation brings them a little closer. They definitely clash personality-wise and annoy each other but are closer than either will admit with Aimeric currently being one of the few people who knows some of Laurent's secrets and understands him better than most. (Plus we all know Laurent is more sentimental than he lets on so he's probably attached to Aimeric)


	11. Chapter 11

More teenagers had appeared around Aimeric where he leaned insouciantly against the bar. Collectively the group turned, signaled by a nod from Aimeric. Laurent was pale enough that the blush made his complexion look normal. Aimeric raised a glass towards them as they departed under the stares of Laurent’s former classmates.

In the Jeep Laurent glanced at his motorcycle still resting on its side in the back, “I plan on leaving tomorrow.”

Damen had expected this, but not so soon. Laurent had only been mobile for a day and the bike was in need of repairs. The statement had also inexplicably stung and Damen’s knuckles were white from his tight grip on the steering wheel.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Damen asked.

“We were seen together by a lot of people. It compromised our safety, it will be better for both of us if we part ways,” Laurent said this impassively to the passenger window.

“If that’s what you think is best,” Damen said.

“It is.”

-

Damen couldn’t rid himself from the sensation of dread. He was too aware of Laurent’s presence and how transitory it had become. He only realized he was pacing when Laurent, somewhat irritably, moved his workspace from the couch into the bedroom.

When taking laps around the apartment had tired Damen to the point that he found his final night on the couch more appealing, he went to the fridge for a bottle of water only to find it empty. The door was slammed a little harder than intended.

Laurent looked up as he entered the bedroom. He had changed out of his club attire into black jeans and oversized sweater.

“Water?” Damen offered a bottle where Laurent could reach and take it from his hand. He didn’t bother standing and sat on the floor next to the fridge his back against the bed.

“How’s it going?” Damen asked taking a drink of water. He looked down at the bottle. The water tasted odd.

“A lot of files are encrypted. I didn’t think Guion was smart enough to know how to encrypt files. He must use a program.”

“How do you un-encrypt files?” Damen took a tentative sip from the bottle. The taste was familiar but not enough that he recognized it, he poured a small spot of water into his hand.

“Typically, you need a keyword,” Laurent said, and Damen heard the plastic crack of Laurent opening his water bottle. On Damen’s palm, the water had left a pink residue. It couldn’t be flavored; the bottle had been sealed. Damen looked the bottle over and on the bottom found a piece of clear tape covering a syringe size hole. He felt the effects of the drug hit as he realized what it was.

“Laurent,” Damen turned and snatched the bottle from Laurent’s lips.

“What?” Laurent asked alarmed.

“Mine is drugged,” Damen said and examined the water he had taken from Laurent. “I think yours is too. Did you drink any?”

“What is it drugged with?” Laurent’s posture had changed, the computer set aside a fight or flight response ready to activate.

“An Akielon amorous drug, it—”

“I am aware of the effect,” Laurent said. The laptop was slapped closed and Laurent stood. He looked panicked, blue eyes wide, his breathing shallow and it wasn’t from the drug. Damen thought it was the onset of a panic attack. For anyone else, Damen would have attempted a physical comfort, but any time he had surprised or touched Laurent without reason he had reacted badly. Then just as quickly Laurent’s demeanor shifted, he had changed from the initial flight reaction to fight.

“Why do you keep bottles of drugged water so close at hand?”

“I don’t,” Damen said and passed a hand over his face, the reasoning part of his brain was being choked out by a desire that was quickly becoming a physical need.

Laurent was fired up in a different way, “These two tainted bottles suggest otherwise.”

“Why would I keep a drug where I might accidentally drink it?”

“Accidentally having someone drink it near your bed seems pretty straight forward.”

“Why—” Damen felt his whole body throb, “did I stop you once I realized what it was? I would have let you drink more if my plan was to bed you.”

Laurent looked him over considering. It was either an exercise in Laurent’s will power or the drugs hadn’t hit him as hard. Damen was hyperaware of the pleasant blush, dilated pupils, and controlled breathing. He looked away from Laurent, hands in fists, the need was becoming a pain, too much blood rushing too quickly to one area.

“I need to make a phone call and you need to leave,” Damen said. Maybe he should have felt more alarmed that he had been drugged but he currently didn't have the ability to focus on anything other than the imperative physical need. 

“Am I in danger of being ravaged?” Laurent said it with a flash of teeth, a lip curled in revulsion.

“No,” Damen said it his voice raised in agitation, “Do you really think I’d take advantage of you after everything?”

Laurent stared at him, a little stunned by Damen’s anger, “No,” he said awkwardly, seeming to reconsider his accusations, “I don’t think you would.”

“If you don’t intend to let me make love to you, I need you to leave,” Damen said. His clothes felt harsh and constricting, they needed to be removed. He wasn’t going to be able to wait for a partner to arrive he needed to do something now. Damen found his phone and then the contact he wanted when he realized Laurent was still standing there.

There was an excruciating moment of hesitation. Damen hadn’t expected the indecision. At best Laurent had seemed to tolerate Damen’s touch and even without Aimeric’s comments on Laurent’s celibacy, Damen would have suspected a lack of interest as well as experience.

“Laurent,” Damen prompted. He wanted to give Laurent the time necessary to accept the proposal, but he couldn’t wait.

“Make your call,” Laurent collected his computer and left.

Damen called a semi-regular hookup, Erasmus. After several rounds, Damen still wasn’t satisfied. Some of the adjacent neighbors protested the noise by pounding on the ceiling or floor. Typically, Damen let Erasmus stay as long as he liked, and enjoyed his company but he couldn’t keep the warm attractive body in bed next to him and cool down. The cold shower also didn’t have the effect he had hoped for and he relieved himself by hand for the umpteenth time.

There was no sign of Laurent, but Damen didn’t detour to investigate and returned to his bed where he laid on his back and attempted to keep his thoughts neutral. His body still primed to react to any illicit thought or visual. If he could get to sleep, he could possibly circumvent the remnants of the drug still lingering in his system. Even after the energetic rounds with Erasmus and a few other solo runs, Damen wasn’t especially tired. He was contemplating calling Isander while simultaneously trying to not think of Isander and their previous sexual encounters.

His mind continuously returned to Laurent for a similar reason it had for Isander and Erasmus, but it came with a tricky prick of anxiety that Damen had previously avoided, but now seemed like a good time to think of Laurent leaving. If he hadn’t already bolted as soon as Erasmus had arrived. The apartment was quiet, not that Laurent made much noise, but Damen couldn’t imagine him enduring the lovemaking in the next room if his neighbors didn’t.

Laurent was gone and Damen was sobered. He had only adjusted to the idea and reached the border of sleep when he heard the front door open then close. Damen’s first thought was the location of the nearest gun was and second that he did not want to stand and increase the blood flow in his body unless the intruder planned on killing him. He was prepared to be separated from his belongings if it meant he could remain reclined and flaccid.

Damen was a little miffed when his bedroom was intruded on and for a moment, he thought it was Jokaste and again wondered where the nearest gun was.

Laurent perched against the bed and put a bottle of water in Damen’s hand.

“I thought you left,” Damen said.

“I did briefly. I walked to a convenience store, hence the un-drugged water.”

“I didn’t drug the water,” Damen said and threw an arm over his face. He’d had a view of Laurent’s back where the blond hair spilled over the sweater collar and the curve of his lower back that led to other curves.

“I believe you. So, who did?”

“Jokaste,” Damen said realizing his brain had solved this while his body had been busy. “You were hidden under the blankets, but she rifled through the fridge and must have slipped the drugged bottles in.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you date her?”

“That doesn’t mean I understand how she thinks. First time I saw her I thought she was the most beautiful woman. Then I was charmed by the quick wit and part of her appeal was the intelligence. She wanted power though and I guess when I didn’t immediately take up the role of leadership after my dad died she left me for my brother.”

“I wouldn’t have picked that to be your type,” Laurent said.

“Type?”

“A pretty face, devious mind, and ruthless nature.”

“No that isn’t— I didn’t know she was—” Damen rubbed his face, “I didn’t know what she was.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I knew she was ruled by her mind not her heart, that she was ambitious, sometimes ruthless. I admit there was something attractive about it, but I never guessed she would betray me for Kastor.”

“Auguste was like you,” Laurent said, “he had no instinct for deception, it meant he couldn’t recognize it in other people.”

“And what about you?” Damen said after a difficult breath.

“I have a highly developed instinct for deception.”

“No— I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

Damen uncovered his face to look at Laurent. He couldn’t discern if the drug still had a hold on Laurent, or if it ever really had. After a night of Damen’s sexuality on display, as well as admitting that his ex had drugged him for reasons unknown. He decided he would just ask Laurent. The lines of his body seemed relaxed and easy, supported by his hands that were dangerously close to Damen’s legs. His soft lips, that were often drawn into harder lines, their sensuality suppressed, currently expressed only mild interest.

“Shy?” Damen asked.

“If you want an answer, you’ll have to ask the question.”

“Aimeric accused you of being celibate and untouchable.”

“Is that a question?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Laurent said. There was a short silence before he continued, “There’s— only been one person.”

“I’m a little more experienced than that,” Damen mumbled and covered his face again. He was having trouble controlling his thoughts.

“The noise your partner made suggested that fact,” Laurent said. Damen glanced at him Laurent had pulled down the collar of his sweater over one shoulder. Rationally Damen knew he was scratching at the stitches, and under different circumstances, Damen might have scolded him but from his current vantage point all he saw was the bare shoulder.

Damen groaned when he failed to keep his thoughts neutral.

“That still hasn’t left your system?” Laurent met his gaze, the blue eyes were mostly pupil.

“Has it left yours?”

Laurent looked away. His reaction similar as it had been earlier, it seemed he would have rather cut off a limb than have his condition known. Damen didn’t understand the odd reaction. Laurent’s general response to anything sexual was odd and didn’t map to anything Damen could recognize.

“I’m not going to be able to think this away,” Damen said.

“Are you planning on calling another partner?”

“Not this late, or early rather,” Damen said realizing that dawn was less than an hour away. He should have felt more tired.

“You said ‘make love’ not ‘fuck’,” Laurent said still turned away.

Damen sat up, “Did you think I’d just throw you down and mount?”

“That is a little what it sounded like,” Laurent said, he had reacted to the proximity, his back straightening. Damen didn’t miss the shiver and goosebumps along the nape of Laurent's neck.

“Erasmus can be loud,” Damen said. He reached out to Laurent slowly, it was a little like trying to pet a wild animal he was never quite sure how he would react. Gently Damen ran his thumb across the bruised cheekbone. A few more days and the green and blue bruise would be healed. Laurent was very still under Damen’s hand, a procession of enigmatic thoughts and feelings passed behind the blue eyes. Laurent didn’t soften to the touch, so Damen withdrew his hand. For the first time, he considered Aimeric’s statement that Laurent was using him. Did Laurent only tolerate his touch because Damen had been sheltering and caring for him?

Damen’s body reminded him that there was something he needed to take care of _soon_. “You can have the bed,” he said and moved to stand only to find himself pushed back. Laurent straddled his hips and hands went to the band of Damen’s sweatpants.

“What are you doing?” Damen asked reflexively catching Laurent’s hands.

“You’re not very observant,” Laurent said, “I’m taking responsibility. It is my fault you are once again aroused.”

“You don’t have to—” Damen began.

“I know.”

Damen looked at Laurent, could see the slightly altered breathing and the taut line of his back. Damen’s body craved the touch in a way that was too intense to be brought on by the waning effects of the drug, but he didn’t want to take advantage of Laurent. It would be selfish to allow him to continue.

He didn’t get to think past that thought because his sweatpants and underwear were pulled down and he was exposed.

“I see you are everywhere in proportion.” There was a different tone to Laurent’s voice as he closed a fist around the head. Damen’s body curved. The pressure from Laurent’s grip was more akin to aggressive control than a loving caress.

Laurent was focused on his work as well as controlling his own body. The blue eyes dark and revealing little while focused downward on Damen’s body. Damen reveled a little in Laurent’s attention roaming across his naked body.

Damen wanted to do what felt natural and reach out to him, but Laurent said, “Don’t touch me.” So Damen gripped the sheets instead, his body strained every muscle flexed. Laurent’s stroke was slow but tight, focused on the most sensitive areas that were almost inflamed from excessive friction.

“Loosen your grip,” Damen groaned.

“Overly sensitive?”

“It’s been a long night.”

The grip softened and Laurent focused on the head, where his thumb rubbed a wet circle. After the hours of abuse his flesh had taken, the stroke was too much, the skin of that area too raw, too sensitive. There was a juncture where Damen wasn’t sure his body was going to complete the process. Physically depleted it was only the drug that kept him painfully erect.

It hit as a burst, almost more pain than pleasure, his body performing its duty out of necessity, commanded more by the hyperawareness that it was Laurent touching him than a biological compliance.

Laurent was above him fully clothed, jeans, sweater, and black boots by Damen’s thighs. There was a moment of organic clarity. The eye contact more intimate than Laurent’s hands on his naked body. Something was exposed in Laurent, a barrier had folded, he had a glimpse at a vulnerable tangle behind his eyes, and Damen thought he should have looked away. Laurent pulled back, emitting a shudder of his own, unable to quickly withdraw and return to the typical cool demeanor.

Laurent untangled himself preparing for another retreat. Damen caught him by the wrist, fine bones, and quick pulse beneath his fingers. Blue eyes met his, Laurent still hadn’t rebuilt his shields and he was a little wide-eyed looking back at Damen.

“You don’t have to run away,” Damen said.

“I wasn’t, I— was going to get you a towel,” Laurent looked pointedly at Damen’s hand still on his wrist. Damen released him and Laurent did as he said he would and brought Damen a slightly damp washcloth. Damen had covered himself, pulling his pants back up to where they were supposed to be. Laurent leaned against the mattress. The cloth exchanged hands and Laurent watched Damen clean the mess off his stomach.

Damen caught Laurent watching with a light blush across his cheeks. Damen sat up closing the distance between them. Laurent’s shoulder brushed Damen’s chest and he thought how easy it would be to pull him closer. The shields had not been restored and Laurent was unaccustomed to the vulnerability, he was clearly fighting something beyond Damen’s understanding. He wanted to kiss him, wanted to revisit the moment from the club where there had almost been a kiss more than a superficial brush of lips.

Damen’s hand slid into Laurent’s hair, delighting at the feel of the gold strands between his fingers. His head was only inches from Laurent’s when Laurent breathed, “Wait. I— Not while the drug is still in my system.” With a defeated sigh, Damen let his forehead fall briefly against Laurent's. They had been so close.

Reluctantly, Damen gave Laurent space, even scooting back on the bed. The distance seemed to affect both of them, and the eye contact remained stable. Damen wanted to follow some instinct to comfort Laurent in whatever internal battle was taking place, but he wore a semblance of the look that said, ‘_don’t touch me_.’

Pre-dawn light pressed against the apartment. Damen finally felt weary enough that he could probably sleep but wasn’t quite sure how to detach from the moment or if he wanted to.

“Did you want the bed?” Damen asked and prepared to exile himself to the living room.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave,” Laurent said and removed his boots. Damen felt he had finally been given the peace he needed and finally fell asleep next to Laurent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was looking to see if the Akielon drug had a name I found on Laurent's wiki that he has a tolerance because his uncle used to drug him. It doesn't have a source but I don't think this was ever mentioned explicitly or otherwise in the novels. Just wondering if anyone knows if Pacat has said something about this somewhere or knows where that theory came from?


	12. Chapter 12

Laurent woke Damen, “You need to see this.”

Damen rolled groggily towards Laurent’s voice where he sat on the other side of the bed with his laptop and one of those blinking devices.

“What are you doing?” Damen rubbed his face to clear his vision.

“You’ve asked that twice within a few hours, you really should practice paying more attention.”

“Laurent,” Damen said, and it sounded like a grumpy warning.

“You need to see this,” Laurent repeated and turned the computer.

“What am I looking at?” Damen noticed the time in the corner of the screen. He had only slept five hours. “Did you sleep?”

“I didn’t want to mix drugs,” Laurent said it carelessly. If he hadn’t taken anything, he probably hadn’t been able to sleep.

“Laurent,” Damen groaned again, he was still exhausted from yesterday's activities.

“This is more important,” Laurent insisted. Damen sat up still hazy but willing to pay attention.

“Whose email is this?” Damen moved closer to see the screen, their shoulders nearly touching.

“Jokaste’s.” Laurent flicked to a different tab, “And this is Kastor’s.”

“What? You can’t hack into my family’s email.”

“It wasn’t that difficult actually. Read this.”

“I’m not going to read my brother’s emails.” Damen began to move away.

Laurent stopped him with a hand on his arm and Damen paused under the touch. Laurent’s expression was serious as he said, “They plan to betray you.”

Damen stared at Laurent waiting for him to say he was joking or the expression to waver.

“No—” Damen said when Laurent didn’t break the eye contact, expression still sincere. “No, Kastor wouldn’t— he’s my brother.”

“You can’t trust family,” Laurent said softly.

“My family isn’t like yours.” Damen stood up and pulled free of Laurent’s hand.

“This is my uncle’s email address,” Laurent said, “they’ve been corresponding for months, even while your father was alive. Kastor and Jokaste have been planning a coup to get rid of you.”

Damen shook his head, “Why would Kastor— why would he want to get rid of me?”

“Theomedes left you more of the kingdom. Higher percentages in stocks, more clubs and buildings are in your name than Kastor’s. Your father wanted you to be the one to take over after his death.”

“I told Kastor we would share.” Damen paced, voice growing louder. “I would give him more if he just asked, there’s no reason he’d have to betray me.”

“I have records of their correspondence, emails and minutes from meetings,” Laurent continued calmly, “I can prove that—”

“Maybe they’re trying to deceive your uncle.” Damen cut him off, irritated that Laurent would think his brother capable of this kind of deception. “What is your uncle supposedly getting from this? Why would they work together?”

“If you’d let me explain—” Laurent began.

“I thought Veretians hated Akielons,” Damen interjected.

Calmly Laurent sat back and folded his arms, quietly watching Damen go back and forth anxiously.

After a few moments of silence, Laurent said, “Can you process this quicker so we can move on?”

“Kastor wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t know _how_ to do this,” Damen said.

“What about Jokaste?” Laurent asked.

“Jokaste?”

“You said Jokaste put the drugged bottles in the fridge. She also planted cameras around the apartment.”

“What? Why would she—” Damen began before he recalled Jokaste shuffling through his belongings and rearranging items on his bookshelf and tv stand.

“There’s one on the dresser,” Laurent said nodding straight across the room, “Which means last night…”

Damen marched over to the dresser.

“Wait,” Laurent’s voice was sharp, “Don’t touch it, we want to maintain the illusion we don’t know about them.”

Damen found the small camera. The desire to smash it was overwhelming, seeing it forced him to consider what Laurent was saying might be true. It was directed at the bed so everything from last night had likely been documented. Damen began to feel a little nauseated.

“I’m going to talk to Kastor,” Damen said sure that if he could just speak with his brother they could work this out. If Kastor wanted to own more land or money Damen would give it to him they were supposed to rule together. It was what Damen wanted.

“No,” Laurent said, but Damen was looking for a shirt. Kastor lived in the same building, it was a Saturday afternoon, there was a good chance he would be in his apartment. Damen snagged a shirt and was going for the door when Laurent inserted himself in Damen’s path.

“Move.”

“No,” said Laurent, “You need to know more of the facts before—”

Damen took him by the arm to shift him out of his way. Laurent grabbed the door frame with the other hand and wouldn’t be moved without excessive force.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Damen said aware that without any pain killers in his system Laurent’s breathing was already a little labored. Even if Laurent hadn’t been injured it wouldn’t take much effort to throw him aside and out of Damen’s way.

“You’ll hurt me more if you leave,” Laurent said, and it made Damen pause, there was something exposed in the blue eyes, a vulnerability that Laurent was uncomfortable with.

“How?”

“Your apartment has been under surveillance and they know I’m here. Kastor has betrayed you and if you confront him, he’s going to speed up the timeline. I won’t be able to escape quickly enough, not while I’m—”

Damen released Laurent and took a step back, “I can’t believe Kastor would do this.” He felt his legs fold beneath him, and he sat on the floor.

“You need to get past the denial stage so we can move forward.”

“Why are you saying ‘we’? I thought you were leaving.”

“That— is no longer viable.”

There was a pause while Damen cradled his head in his hands looking down at the floor. A little awkwardly Laurent knelt and put a hand on Damen’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but it is better than the alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?”

Laurent didn’t answer right away, “Are you ready to hear everything?”

“No,” Damen said.

“You don’t have a choice,” Laurent stood, his bare ankles and feet in Damen’s line of vision before padding off. If Damen really wanted to leave this would be his opportunity but Laurent was right, he wouldn’t escape if everything went wrong, neither of them would. The bare feet returned and kicked Damen’s legs apart. Laurent sat on the floor between Damen’s thighs his back to Damen’s front with the computer on his lap.

“Now what are you doing?” Damen asked sounding grumpier than he intended, but he was about at his limit for confusing situations.

“If I have to sit on you to make you pay attention that’s what I’ll do.”

Laurent had organized everything and went through the information in chronological order adding his own theories and pointing out past events that correlated with the messages. He almost seemed excited by the information he had found. Meanwhile, Damen discovered that Jokaste had been cheating on him for months longer than Damen had known. For Damen’s sake, Laurent skimmed the implications that Kastor had helped with Theomedes’ passing.

Damen had half unthinkingly embraced Laurent, arms around his waist, Laurent barely reacted other than to stumble in his reading and temporarily lost his place. He allowed the contact even when Damen rested his face against the back of Laurent’s head, the blond hair soft and clean.

There were trade agreements and territories redefined. The Veretians could sell drugs within Akielon borders so long as Kastor received a percentage of the profit. Aikelon’s held the most affluent property along the coast and several businesses were being bid on for Veretian control. Specifically, the ones Damen owned. Damen himself had become a bargaining chip and his current status was set to be delivered to the Veretian’s mob boss as seemingly a gift of goodwill.

Damen was no longer looking at the laptop his forehead resting on Laurent’s shoulder.

“There are some gaps, probably phone calls and texts, but most of it can be figured out based on the information provided,” Laurent said as a summary.

“So, Jokaste and Kastor know you’re here, but they haven’t told your uncle?” There was a lot of new information to process.

“It doesn’t appear they have informed him, but I suspect he probably knows. The goal seemed to be to catch you doing something on camera that could be used to take loyalty away from you. Now they probably also want to collect the money for my capture.”

“Did Jokaste know you were here?” Damen asked against the cotton of Laurent’s sweater.

“I doubt it was coincidental or bad timing that the cameras were placed only hours after my arrival here.” Laurent extricated himself from Damen's embrace and stood. He leaned against the wall, an arm wrapped around his ribs for support.

"Are you going to take something?" Damen asked, still on the floor. He was glad Laurent could almost function without dulling the pain but didn’t like seeing him uncomfortable.

"No." Laurent said, "Someone must be watching you closely. You'll need to pack light and quickly so we don't lose this advantage.

“So, you think someone has been keeping tabs on me close enough to know that the previous times I’ve left the apartment haven’t been an escape?” Damen dropped his head in his hands, “Who would do that?”

“What about Nikandros?”

For a moment Damen was speechless, more outraged by the suggestion that Nik would betray him than Kastor. “Absolutely not.”

“He’s the only one who knew for certain I was here before Jokaste planted the cameras. What would be more incriminating than harboring a Veretian fugitive? It's unlikely that it's just a coincidence, and makes more sense that someone tipped her off.”

Damen was on his feet without thinking, this time he went for his phone and snatched it before Laurent could stop him.

“Nik would never—” Damen kept the phone out of Laurent’s reach.

“You’ve been saying the same thing about your brother,” Laurent said straining to get the phone from Damen’s grip. He was surprised when Laurent found a pressure point in his elbow and Damen’s hand involuntarily released the phone. It clattered onto the floor.

“Nik is different,” Damen pushed Laurent back onto the bed and held him there with a hand on his chest.

“Get off me.” The growl wasn’t as intimidating as it might have been with Laurent out of breath. Damen retrieved his cell from the floor before releasing Laurent. He stood and Damen found himself taking a step back from the look in Laurent’s eyes. With visible effort, Laurent closed his eyes and took in a shuddering breath.

“Will you give me a few minutes to look through Nikandros’ computer first?” It was technically a question, but Laurent said it as though Damen didn’t have a choice. There was a moment of quiet hostility while they stared each other down. Damen, aware that Laurent was circumventing a considerable amount of anger to compromise, dropped the phone on the bed. Laurent took it with him when he left.

Damen wanted to make coffee then remembered Laurent had used the rest of his grinds yesterday. He settled for tea and paced around the kitchen while he waited for the kettle to boil, which then led to pushups, first against the counter then on the floor.

Laurent, on the barstool at the counter, intermittently glanced up from the laptop distracted by Damen’s movement. With fingers to his temple, each glance away from the screen further soured his expression.

With a thump, Damen put a mug of tea in front of Laurent and took his own out to the balcony. They both needed space. Damen pretended he could hear the ocean. From his vantage point, he saw white caps forming, the sky was grey with the hint of a festering storm. If Damen had been up of his own volition and not confined to his apartment by a small blond tyrant, it would have been a good day to go surfing. Kastor had been the one to teach Damen how to surf when he was a child and since then they had taken annual trips to popular surfing destinations. Damen had mostly enjoyed it because his older brother had, it was one of the few physical things Kastor still liked to do, and Damen used it as an opportunity to spend time with him.

Damen found himself back inside looking over Laurent’s shoulder who didn’t seem pleased with his presence. “Have you found anything?”

“Surprisingly he’s the only one in this building with a decent firewall,” Laurent said his mug of tea empty.

“How much longer?” Damen asked. His phone was on the counter not far from Laurent’s reach, but it wouldn’t be difficult to swipe.

“At the risk of sounding brusque and ineloquent: _go away_.”

Damen took a forceful breath and ran a hand through his hair. “If I’m confined to the apartment where am I supposed to go?” 

“I don’t care, just don’t start pacing,” Laurent said interrupting Damen’s first few strides.

“Nik tried to warn me against Jokaste, why would he do that if he was conspiring against me?”

“Well, you seem to do the opposite of what he tells you,” Laurent said.

Damen realized he had begun to pace and stopped when Laurent looked up. “What if I make breakfast?”

“It’s lunchtime.”

“Then I’ll make lunch.” Damen needed something to do.

“Fine,” Laurent agreed.

Damen went from the pantry to the refrigerator trying to mentally put together recipes, but he forgot the contents of the pantry after he made the trip to the fridge. He stared into space trying to recall the last time they had eaten. Was it really yesterday evening with the gyros? He didn’t feel hungry. Laurent probably was, he had no reason to feel nauseous. Damen turned to look at Laurent and caught him in a grimace with hand on his ribs and back fully straight in order to take a fulfilling breath.

“At least take some fucking Advil,” Damen said.

Laurent looked up more perplexed than irritated, “You’re in a foul mood.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Give me the bottle,” Laurent said after a pause, he held out a hand and Damen turned to find the Advil before Laurent changed his mind. It took a moment of scrambling to find a backup of Acetaminophen instead. Laurent swallowed five pills. Damen shook his head but didn’t comment on what was technically an overdose.

Damen made more tea for Laurent and began to gather the ingredients for pita sandwiches. Under different circumstances, it could have been a nice scene and Damen may have thought about the possibility of Laurent as a more permanent presence at the counter but the anxiety blocked any potential daydreams.

“I found a hole,” Laurent said.

“What?”

“In the firewall, I have access.”

Damen waited for more information and managed to assemble the sandwiches without burning any of them.

“Come here,” Laurent beckoned. Damen tensed and hesitated. “Come on,” Laurent insisted. Damen took the plate of food and kettle over to set between them.

“What is it?” Damen asked.

Laurent turned the computer so Damen could see, “I compiled everything and had programs search for keywords so if there’s anything incriminating it should show up.” The loading bar for the results was at 99%. Damen took more tea, the idea of food suddenly very unappealing. He held his breath as the loading process finished and multiple files and emails began to appear in the folder. Damen stood abruptly, the stool scraping on the tile with a discordant noise.

“Don’t panic,” Laurent said and tentatively reached out, resting a hand on Damen’s forearm. “It’s a broad search this doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” Damen looked back at the list of files. He thought that if Nikandros had also betrayed him he might as well jump off the balcony.

“Sit,” Laurent instructed.

Damen sat. He couldn’t read as quickly as Laurent. When emails were pulled up Laurent would declare it, “Clear,” before Damen could get halfway through.

Damen didn’t touch the sandwiches. Laurent ate two. He could type and operate the computer almost as quickly with one hand. The water in the kettle was room temperature by the time every file had been cleared.

Laurent handed Damen his phone, “Be vague, your phone may be tapped. You’ll need a burner.”

Nikandros didn’t appreciate the ambiguity but would be over within 10 minutes. Damen swiped the last sandwich from Laurent’s hand.

“Wait,” Damen said before he took a bite, “If Nik is seen with us on the cameras won’t that implicate him?”

“I have an idea regarding that,” Laurent said, “It will be good to have him appear agitated with the cameras watching us, but I don’t think that will be difficult.”

“What is your plan?” Damen asked.

“We can’t stay here. If you're going to pack use a gym bag or something discreet and do it outside of the view of the cameras.”

The revelation that Damen might never see his apartment again should have occurred to him sooner. Damen returned the sandwich to Laurent.

-

“At least it doesn’t look like you’re packing,” Laurent leaned against the door frame looking over the mess. Most of Damen's clothes were on the floor surrounding him where he sat with head in his hands. “At least remember a toothbrush,” Laurent glanced away when there was a knock on the door. It was a courtesy knock before Nikandros entered.

“What is going on?” Nik’s gaze passed over Laurent’s arrogant lean and then to Damen on the floor.

“We’re somewhere between the denial and anger stage,” Laurent said.

“Is that supposed to clarify?”

“Follow me,” Laurent said over his shoulder as he wandered off back to his computer. Nikandros’ expression was abstract, irritated and confused. He looked to Damen for an explanation, but the best he could offer was a gesture to follow Laurent.

Damen dropped random piles of clothes into the bag, unsure how much time had passed before a commotion in the other room brought him back to reality. Nik had many of the same criticisms Damen had expressed, but Nik’s version was louder with more gestures and aggressive pacing.

“He looks agitated,” Laurent sounded pleased as Damen moved to stand next to him.

The plan was laid out and Laurent was nearly out of patience by the end. A strategy that would have taken ten minutes to explain had taken nearly an hour with the objections from Damen and Nik.

“Last time.” Laurent placed two fingers between his brows the other arm supporting his thorax. “We have an advantage that is slipping away. They don’t know that we know, the biggest problem we have is that Nikandros’ loyalty will be questioned when he’s seen associating with me.”

“Can’t you just erase the video footage that shows he’s here?” Damen asked.

“I could but it’s possible the recordings are being stored on an external drive so deleting them on Jokaste’s computer could just alert her that the files have been tampered with. Fortunately, it’s all video and no audio, but it would be simpler if this was the first time Nikandros was seen on camera here, but we can’t pretend he hasn’t previously met me.”

“I’ve been trying,” Nikandros mumbled.

“So,” Laurent continued unbothered, “Are there any further objections to the plan? — Actually, let me rephrase that,” Laurent lifted a hand as Nikandros opened his mouth to seemingly object. “Do you have a better idea?”

Nik glanced at Damen who shrugged.

“The sooner the better then,” Laurent said and turned towards his computer to begin the first part of the plan.

Before Nik left, he took Damen aside, “Are you alright?”

“Not really,” Damen said honestly with a rueful laugh. “I thought the hardest part of today would be Laurent leaving.”

“He was going to leave?”

“That was originally the plan until we found out about _this._” Damen made a vague gesture.

“How thoroughly did you look over the emails?” Nik asked.

“It was mostly a blur.”

“The Veretian mob boss asked for you in one of the emails where they negotiate assets. If he wants you for some reason, Laurent may only want you around to use as a bargaining chip.”

Damen covered his face with his hands. Yesterday he would have argued this was untrue. He tried to process logically. “Even if that’s true Laurent’s plan to escape is… _feasible_,” Damen said.

“It’s something,” Nik shook his head, “At least your part is easy, he’s the most at risk.”

“I know you’re not fond of him but he’s putting himself in danger to help me—”

“I won’t intentionally sabotage anything,” Nik said, “But I can’t promise I’ll risk my neck for him either.”

Laurent wasn’t the only one in jeopardy if things went awry. Nikandros had a large part to play and if it wasn’t played out convincingly he could be labeled a traitor.

“Are you sure you won’t just come with us?”

Nik sighed, “Don’t tell him, but he’s right, I can be more help to you from the inside.”

“We’re on a timeline,” Laurent shouted from the other room. Nik shook his head and Damen exhaled.

“Good luck.” Damen quickly embraced his friend.

“Good luck,” Nik said and left.


	13. Chapter 13

Laurent had used his time off drugs as a masochistic experiment. For one, he wanted the relief of knowing when the _amorous_ drug had left his system. The idea of topping that off with a small dose of morphine and further corrupting his senses was exceptionally unappealing. Thus, he was going to find out how much his body hurt, and if he could handle the pain.

Laurent hadn’t wanted to sleep even if it had been an option. Investigating Jokaste had become a somewhat necessary diversion. Damen hadn’t seemed concerned that his ex-girlfriend had attempted, and succeeded, at drugging him. Laurent waited until Damen was asleep before he sat on the bed and opened his laptop.

The rabbit-hole went deep. Throughout the hours of research, Laurent had occasionally glanced at Damen where he quietly slept, broad shoulders and chest lifting with each inhale. He had allowed Damen five hours of sleep even though Laurent had finished reading, then rereading, everything in three.

The bedroom was filled with morning light, soft and peaceful, a stark contradiction to Laurent’s mind and body. He tapped anxiously on the laptop before he double-checked the VPN was running and opened the tor browser. The deep web was not a place he found reason to frequent and when he opened the website, he found Nicaise had altered the home page. A red skull and crossbones took up the majority of the black background. Laurent had to mouse over most of the screen to find the popup for the password entry. That, at least, hadn’t been changed. It was a simple chat board. The only form of untracked communication they currently had. Laurent had been absent for a few days and there was a wall of text to be read.

The first few paragraphs were regarding the motorcycle. Questions on whether it was totaled, and if Nicaise could have it when Laurent died. Not _if_ but _when _as though it were simply pending. Most of the messages were life updates. Nicaise had been sent to the school psychiatrist for stabbing another student with a fork, and from his point of view he had talked circles around the psychiatrist. Briefly he mentioned that Aimeric had visited with Guion and while the adults had their meeting Nicaise had beaten Aimeric at chess multiple times. 

Laurent curled up, knees to his chest, and reread everything. There was something morbid about the lighthearted and confident mood behind the messages. Superficially it was no different than talking to an intelligent twelve-year-old, but there was always something in the subtext that was unsettling_._

Eventually, Laurent typed out replies, including a few details asked for about his current injuries. Nicaise had seemed especially interested in hearing how Govart had stabbed him. Laurent didn’t include that he had passed out and woken up chained to a bed nearly naked, even though Nicaise would have loved it.

Laurent closed the tor browser and toed the laptop away. He rested his cheek on his knees and a little enviously watched Damen breathe. Gingerly he touched a soft strand of dark hair. He would let Damen sleep a little longer before he ruined his life.

-

A few hours ago, Laurent had been sympathetic towards Damen. Now he wanted to slap him. Damen still hadn’t processed. Perhaps a little physical violence would flip a switch. Laurent had taken care of every detail by himself. It was what he was used to, but he needed Damen to be more focused to complete his part of the plan. Laurent was unsure how much Damen had registered. He hadn’t seemed concerned when Laurent had taken his wallet and used Damen’s credit cards to load money onto the temporary prepaid debit cards Laurent had been collecting.

There wasn’t much time left on the mental countdown. Laurent finished with his laptop and wrapped it in clothes before packing it in his satchel and then in the duffle. The extra padding was a necessary precaution since Damen would be responsible for getting his belongings out. Laurent checked Damen’s packing progress and added the toiletries he had forgotten, as well as some food items, and Damen’s computer. Somewhere Damen had a found a moment of clarity and packed a bag of his arsenal. Laurent still had the Beretta in his bag and the switchblade in his pocket along with a Bash Bunny and mini hard drive.

Damen was in the kitchen staring at an apple. He hadn’t eaten and Laurent hadn’t slept.

Laurent approached, “Would you mind assisting me?” He asked and held out compression wrap. The sweater came off of over his head with Damen’s help. The cloud of contusions still covered a majority of his left side from shoulder to ankle. His ribs were proficiently wrapped and secured. KT tape was used to stabilize his shoulder, Laurent had previously been skeptical of the efficiency of athletic tape but was quietly impressed that Damen knew how and where to lay the tape in order to fortify the joint. Laurent was able to redress with less effort. A small victory. Keeping a couple of Auguste’s large sweaters had turned out to be useful.

“I’m leaving,” Laurent said, and Damen reacted coming forward. Damen’s hand hovered near Laurent’s hair before landing on his shoulder, thumb just grazing the skin of his neck. Laurent felt his body mechanically react, the muscles tightening. He needed more potent pain killers with Damen around.

“Be careful,” Damen said. It was difficult to keep the eye contact through the sincerity of emotion present in the dark eyes. The dimple had appeared in his cheek.

“You have two minutes.” Laurent looked away and left.

He took the elevator, using the time to carefully take satisfying breaths and focused on what needed to be achieved. Auguste would have no trouble completing the mission, it shouldn’t concern Laurent either.

The elevator doors parted. A final deep breath and Laurent adopted a casual stroll through the lobby. He knew it was coming but still flinched at the yell.

“Hey, stop!” Nikandros was on time. Laurent braced himself as he was about to be manhandled for the third time that day.

_“Be careful with him,” Damen had said when discussing the plan, “Don’t jerk his right arm.”_

_“It needs to look real. I’m not so delicate,” Laurent said._

Laurent partially turned to present his left side, he didn’t want either arm ‘_jerked’_ but left was preferable. Nikandros charging him was intimidating. He was about the same size as Damen and consequently larger than Laurent.

_“There are most likely people tasked with watching for and monitoring Damen, so we will have to create a diversion,” Laurent had said to Nikandros._

“Don’t move,” Nik ordered. Laurent attempted to disobey and run, unsure if he could, but only made it a few steps. Nikandros caught him by the left wrist. The struggle was supposed to appear realistic, but physically Laurent wasn’t a match. He knew enough self-defense to free his wrist and stumbled back. Nikandros was able to catch both of Laurent’s wrists in only one of his hands, it was admittedly impressive. Laurent dropped to sit on the floor, undignified, but it made Nikandros struggle to keep his grip. Laurent felt the skin stretch around the stitches but continued the struggle regardless.

Damen was visible in Laurent’s peripheral, bags slung over a shoulder as he made his way to the exit. Everyone was focused on the tussle in the center, Laurent began to hear his name murmured as he was recognized. People were moving forward to help apprehend him. Nikandros, in order to keep Laurent out of the hands of strangers, lifted Laurent and threw him over his shoulder. It was not a part of the plan.

“I can’t—” Laurent’s ribs were pressed against Nikandros’ shoulder. Nik bounced him to reposition, and now he was bent at the waist. Not entirely an improvement.

“Someone call Kastor,” Nikandros said to the gathering crowd.

_“I’ll disable Kastor and Jokaste’s phones so they can’t be reached, they will have to be physically retrieved. It will allow us more time,” Laurent had said._

“He hasn’t been answering his phone,” someone replied. Laurent couldn’t see anything but Nikandros’ back. Blood rushed to his head and it was harder to breathe upside down.

_“Lock me in the office and send someone to get Kastor,” Laurent had said._

_“Why do you want in the office?” Damen had asked._

_“I’m going to use a Bash Bunny and create a back door in the system.”_

_“A what?” Nikandros had asked._

_At the same time Damen had said, “Why are hacking devices named after forest animals?”_

Laurent’s position was not favorable to much movement but being docile would not warrant the need to lock him in the office. He kicked, not intending to hurt Nikandros but heard him grunt. Laurent attempted an elegant flail as the grasp on him tightened painfully. A hand-shaped bruise on his upper hamstring would be an odd one to add to his collection.

Laurent breathlessly constructed a paragraph's worth of swear words and insults, that silenced the crowd. It was a skill Laurent had not recently used and was pleased to know it had not atrophied. Nik, carrying Laurent, marched over to the office behind the concierge desk and dropped Laurent hard into the desk chair. The impact was jarring, and the chair rolled back until it struck the wall. The breath was knocked from him.

Nikandros slammed the door. Indistinct shouting was present from the lobby, but the volume was dull. Laurent stole a few seconds to catch his breath. He had miscounted when he had been unexpectedly turned upside down and was off by a few seconds.

_“Either countdown in your head or set a timer,” Laurent had told Damen and Nikandros._

_“You really have this all timed down to the second?” Nikandros had questioned._

_“It’s simply based on averages.”_

From his pockets came the external hard drive and Bash Bunny. Each went into a USB port. The computer required a login. Laurent glanced around at the array of sticky notes littering the workspace for the password while his fingers typed out the commonly used ones. Trying a handful of passwords was quicker than finding a back way into the system. He had access on the fifth try.

The stored security footage was added to the external drive and the Bash Bunny executed the payload operation: ATTACKMODE RNDIS_ETHERNET and went about creating a back door that could later be accessed remotely. Laurent kept track of the separate loading processes while he manually checked the progress of the outside operation by using a GPS tracker. The little hoard of blinking dots on the map were closing in on Karthas’ Apartments. A few seconds difference but everything was on track.

The chaos from the lobby became louder. Laurent turned at the sound of Nikandros’ voice loudly projected as a warning. The Bash Bunny blinked green, it was still booting up and needed to be blue before it could be removed. The drive had only copied half of the files he wanted but he unplugged it anyway. The hard drive was meant only as a backup and thought maybe the Bash Bunny would work faster without the system focusing on something else. The computer still ran on XP. Akielon technology was severely lacking. Laurent watched the screen with head unconsciously tipped towards the sound of Nikandros’ voice, attempting to interpret his words. He heard “Jokaste” spoken, or rather shouted in order to reach him behind the door.

_“What about Jokaste?” Nikandros had asked._

_“She has a spin class on Saturday afternoons she won’t be back for at least another hour.”_

_“Her relationship with the other Akielons should be tenuous regardless. Jokaste’s only influence would come from dating Kastor and even that should be seen as synthetic considering she cheated on Damen. I assume that lost her some modicum of respect, unless I’m mistaken and Kastor allows his whores to run his kingdom?” Laurent had said and Damen and Nikandros had exchanged a look._

_“Don’t underestimate her,” Damen had advised._

The light was still green. There was a thump on the door. Nik was supposed to give a warning before he opened the door. Unsure if that was supposed to be the signal Laurent turned the computer screen to an inactive state and eyed the Bash Bunny still blinking green. He had admittedly never used his equipment on a computer this old and it was taking longer than normal.

The door was assaulted as it was struck with the weight of a body. Laurent flinched when the knob rattled. The door opened and he stood. It was still green. Nikandros had an apologetic look as he reached for Laurent. Reflexively Laurent stepped away and Nik caught him by the shirt front and pulled him out of the room.

Jokaste was there. The lobby attendance had doubled. Jokaste and Laurent stood out, superficially similar in their light coloring, a contrast to the swarm of Akielon’s surrounding them. Nikandros had closed the door behind him and Laurent resisted the urge to put his back against the wood and stand firm with enemies behind him. That countdown was still present in his head. Only a few minutes left.

“Laurent,” said Jokaste and made a small show of looking him over, “I’ve been hearing a lot about you lately. You were set to inherit a kingdom but apparently, you prefer the role of teen runaway.”

“Is that so different than jumping into the bed of the weaker brother?” Laurent said, “Or did you not realize Damen is the legitimate heir?”

Jokaste didn't react, “What compels a Veretian to come to Damen’s defense? Should I presume you’ve been— _beneath him_?”

“No, I don't think Damen inspires loyalty with his cock, but then, you would know that,” said Laurent.

There was a collective inhale, and Jokaste smiled.

“I’ll know soon if you’re lying.”

“I know. You should really invest in a firewall or a VPN,” Laurent said.

Jokaste gave a shallow laugh, “I see. Then I assume Damen is gone.” She drew a silver handgun from her purse and aimed it at Laurent.

Laurent’s pulse reached a little crescendo but forced his expression to remain smooth. A small smile chased his lips, “Ten-thousand is a bit of an insult to us both but it’s still better than seven.”

“Jokaste, you shouldn’t do anything without Kastor here,” Nikandros said.

“Then restrain him and we’ll take him to Kastor,” Jokaste said.

A moment’s hesitation followed before Laurent felt Nikandros take his arms and hold them behind his back.

Jokaste took a step closer, the gun to Laurent’s chest, “Perhaps the price is so low because with a face like that your uncle expected damaged goods to be returned to him. We would hate to disappoint him.”

“It’s one of my favorite past times actually,” Laurent lifted his chin as his countdown reached zero. At the same time Nikandros’ phone went off, the timer signaling it had also concluded. Nik’s grip on his arm tightened in anticipation.

_“Get out before the countdown is completed,” Laurent had said._

A collective breath was the quiet prelude to the anarchy. Someone shouted a warning before the front doors were thrown open.

“Police! Drop your weapon.” Guns were pointed at Jokaste. She did as she was told and dropped the gun lifting her hands, still glaring at Laurent. Nikandros released Laurent as the Akielons scattered. The lobby was pandemonium. Laurent turned back to the office to retrieve his Bash Bunny. It was blue. He shoved it in his pocket. There was a very small rectangular window near the ceiling. Laurent could probably fit through it, but it would be an ordeal. He was standing on the desk when the door opened.

“Show me your hands and get down,” the officer said gun on Laurent. He did as instructed. “Turn around, hands on your head."

Laurent didn’t speak as his wrists were handcuffed behind him. With a hand on his arm he was maneuvered out of the apartment complex and into the back of a cruiser. He was forced to wait for nearly an hour while the turmoil inside was controlled. Jokaste had also been placed in the back of a cop car, as well as a few unknown Akielons. Nikandros so far had escaped. Laurent’s cruiser was the first to leave the scene. They traveled towards the police station and then diverted onto a deserted side alley. The officer exited the vehicle and pulled Laurent from the back seat.

“How are you going to pay me back this time?” Jord asked as he undid the handcuffs.

“Did you have something in mind?” Laurent asked.

“For starters, I’ll need an explanation for how you got away,” Jord said returning the cuffs to his belt.

“I don’t think that’s necessary given my… _reputation_,” Laurent said. “I heard you’re up for promotion. Lieutenant Jord. When is the ceremony?”

“Next week. Why do I think you had a hand in that somehow?”

Laurent shrugged, “I’d like to see you as Captain, but perhaps I’m a traditionalist and would rather have more cops than undercover mobsters on the force.”

“Speaking of, mind if I email you some pictures of new officers, see if you recognize any of them? I’d like to know who the moles are right away.”

“Of course, it may take me a few days, I’m not sure when I— when we will find a secure place or if we’ll be on the run.”

“When did you become a ‘we’?”

“It was unintentional. A twisted form of luck, either bad or good I’m uncertain which,” Laurent leaned against the side of the building. The bruised hip made it difficult to stand or sit for too long.

Jord eyed Laurent's careful posture, looking him over. “Was the downtown motorcycle accident you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you alright?”

“I will be.”

“You’re in deeper shit than usual. Were you about to be shot back there?”

“That or gang-raped, it was a little unclear.”

“Jesus,” Jord shook his head and lit a cigarette. “You’re supposed to be in college. Not still doing this '_girl with the dragon tattoo_' bull shit.”

“That’s not necessarily out of the cards,” Laurent said. “I got into Harvard.”

“Haven’t seen you smile in quite a while,” Jord said and offered his hand for a high five.

Laurent did smile, almost in spite of himself, “Next fall. I suppose I have to finish all of _this_ by then.” He had been carefully not thinking about this. A year ago Harvard predominated his thoughts, but so much had changed since then.

“So, the shit is about to hit the fan?” Jord took a drag on the cigarette, “There are two mob groups basically at each other’s throats but somehow I feel like it will be less busy without you around.”

“After five years you probably deserve a break from me,” Laurent said.

“I didn’t know what I was in for, I thought I was just returning a lost thirteen-year-old to his home. You made doing my job a moral dilemma.”

“I never blamed you for taking me back,” Laurent said.

Jord had eventually figured out why Laurent so frequently ran away and had begun to delay returning him home as long as possible. He had been uncomfortable the first few times he had allowed Laurent to sit in the front seat while they went to restaurant drive-throughs, or took a roundabout route, and other methods of stalling for time.

“I should have realized becoming an adult would bring you other problems. I heard about the reward money. He’s still trying to get you back,” Jord said.

“I’d rather not discuss my uncle,” Laurent said and folded his arms.

Jord sighed and reached into his pocket and took out a peppermint to hand to Laurent.

Laurent accepted with a small exhale, “I used to think you started carrying candy for me.”

“I did. Just became a habit. It does get some weird reactions occasionally.”

“A stranger giving candy to children is generally frowned upon,” Laurent said.

“You only complained when I didn’t have any.”

“You shouldn’t have allowed a child to bully you.”

“When I met you, you weren’t a child,” Jord said and looked up as a white Mercedes G-Class parked along the street. The headlights flickered thrice, the agreed upon signal. Laurent had suggested Damen take Nikandros' vehicle instead of the Jeep which would have immediately been tracked.

“I believe that’s my ride,” Laurent said. 

“Better ditch that quickly,” Jord put out the cigarette.

“Catch the license and let me know if anyone puts a BOLO out on it,” Laurent said.

“Protect and _serve_,” Jord mumbled.

“I suspect I’ll see you soon,” Laurent said as a farewell.

“Not too soon,” Jord replied before Laurent entered the passenger side of the Mercedes.


	14. Chapter 14

Damen chased the blond head through a dark parking lot. 

“This one.” Laurent had stopped in front of an old pickup truck and had declared his choice after looking in the windows.

“You can’t steal someone’s car,” Damen said.

“Actually, I am perfectly capable of stealing a car,” said Laurent.

“You _shouldn’t_ steal a car," Damen clarified. A stolen car did not seem like a good way to stay under the radar.

“Someone left this truck unsupervised. Finders keepers,” Laurent said. The lack of sleep was making him act a little silly and Damen would have been more amused if he wasn’t watching Laurent on his toes break into the truck with a broken clothes hangar. Damen turned his back on the law-breaking and looked around to make sure no one was witnessing the act. Behind him, the engine started, and Damen stopped Laurent from climbing into the driver’s seat.

“You haven’t slept in almost forty-eight hours, you’re not driving.”

“Thirty-nine hours,” Laurent said but allowed Damen to drive. The Mercedes had been left a few blocks away in an area devoid of security cameras and they returned for their bags and Laurent’s motorcycle that Damen had managed to force into the back of the Mercedes.

“So now what? Motel or hotel?” Damen asked.

“No, that’s where we’ll be expected to go.”

“Then what?”

“There’s a campsite a few miles out of the city,” Laurent said.

“Camping?” Damen asked and Laurent gestured to the back seat that held a mess of assorted camping supplies.

Once outside the city, Laurent began to throw supplies from the back seat into the bed of the truck. “It will be warmer up here, wind-resistant, less dirty, etc,” Laurent said. Damen moved the motorcycle to the back seat of the cab while Laurent unrolled a foam pad in the bed.

“There’s a problem,” Damen said after joining Laurent in the back. He was too long to fit in the bed of the truck. “Can you open the tailgate?”

“No, the point is to create a pocket, you can’t let the wind in.”

“With that logic wouldn’t it be warmer in the cab?” Damen asked.

“You aren’t going to fit in there any better.” Laurent unfurled a tarp and went about securing it as a makeshift tent above them.

“You’ve done this before,” Damen said watching him, and then, “Did you know this truck would have camping gear in it?”

“I follow some camping blogs and memorized the addresses of a few fanatics in the city. I don’t always get lucky in that they keep supplies in their vehicle.”

“How many times have you done this?”

“Mostly just when it’s too cold to sleep without shelter.”

“Why don’t you just sleep inside of the truck? You would fit.”

“Because I’ve found authorities are generally lazy and will check the interior of a car but won’t bother untying a tarp to check the bed. There’s also not usually room for me and the motorcycle and I’d rather not have it stolen by leaving it in the back. Tie your side down,” Laurent said.

When the tarp was secured, Laurent pressed himself into a corner while Damen laid down and found a comfortable position, Laurent then folded himself into the empty space. The single sleeping bag had to be shared as a blanket.

“This is possibly the coldest night I’ve had to sleep outside, it's probably fortunate there's two of us for body heat,” Laurent said. They were very close. Damen’s bed in his apartment allowed for much more space between them, in the back of the truck they were an adjustment away from touching. Damen’s eyes were growing accustomed to the dark and he could see Laurent’s eyelashes flickering as he looked over Damen in turn. Underneath the sound of the tarp crinkling in the breeze Damen could hear Laurent breathing shallowly.

“How are you feeling?” Damen asked.

“Tired,” Laurent said his breath smelled like peppermint.

“I mean—”

“I know.” Laurent turned his head away to look upwards. He could only comfortably rest on his back and had one knee drawn up resting against the convex interior of the wheel well. His hand was by the stab wound in his shoulder. Laurent tended to unthinkingly scratch at the stitches and Damen wondered if he was getting an infection.

Damen removed a bottle of Advil from his pocket and passed it over to Laurent, “It’s an assortment. A few morphine pills and some generic analgesics.”

“Morphine makes me drowsy,” Laurent said. "I can't think straight."

“You’re past drowsy. I’m not saying take the morphine I’m just giving you options.”

Laurent returned the bottle with a lazy flop of his hand that fell against Damen’s chest, “Find me something generic,” he said.

Damen complied and handed over two pills to Laurent who dry swallowed both without looking at them. “Nice to know you do actually trust me not to drug you.”

Laurent turned his head to look at Damen who didn’t miss the quick fluttering glance from Damen’s eyes to his lips and back, “What motive would you have for drugging me?”

“None,” Damen said.

“That’s what I thought,” Laurent said and turned his face back towards the tarp.

“You’re very confident for someone who just had his previous plan go awry.”

“What part went wrong?” Laurent asked sleepily.

“Jokaste returned early. Someone must have alerted her somehow,” Damen said.

“I did,” said Laurent, “I texted her before disabling her phone.”

“Why?” Damen asked shocked.

“Because now she, and a dozen or so Akielons, will be spending at least twenty-four hours in a jail cell,” Laurent’s eyes closed, “I didn’t expect her to pull a gun on me, but it only adds to the charges against her so that turned out to be a positive.”

Damen stared at Laurent, “You could have told us. At least warned Nikandros.”

“Nikandros will figure it out when he sees the message came from his phone.”

“You warned Jokaste about the plan from Nikandros’ phone?”

“Yes,” Laurent said softly on the threshold of sleep. “He’s on camera discussing the plan with you and me. Now it looks like he betrayed you in favor of the Akielons so he won’t be considered a traitor. He’s safe for now.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Would you have let me? You both objected to a majority of my ideas.”

After a moment’s silence, Damen said, “Thank you.” He wanted to touch Laurent, it was an almost irresistible desire to run a finger across his cheek or jaw. He had been staring at the flawless profile and the spill of blond hair, amazed by the revelation that Laurent had put himself in danger in order to help him and Nikandros.

“You’re welcome,” Laurent sighed, and Damen watched him as his breathing changed, aware of the moment when he crossed the border into sleep.

Damen was unaware how much time had passed when he woke. It was still dark, seemingly hours from dawn, and he took a moment to evaluate if something had woken him other than the cold. Next to him Laurent shivered and mumbled something.

“Laurent?” Damen asked quietly. There was no response and Damen lifted up onto an elbow to look down at him. Laurent’s expression was distressed, eyes moved jerkily behind closed lids. Damen moved to touch his shoulder then hesitated. He didn’t know what Laurent was dreaming about, but he was already averse to being touched and didn’t think it would be a good way to wake him. Damen spoke softly to him until Laurent jerked and inhaled sharply as the blue eyes opened wide.

“Are you okay?” Damen asked as Laurent looked around remembering where he was.

“I’m fine,” he exhaled shakily and covered his face with his hands. Laurent shivered again.

“I’m going to touch you,” Damen said.

He thought he heard Laurent mumble, “Why?”

“Because we’re both cold,” Damen said and when he didn’t receive an answer, he tentatively stretched an arm across Laurent’s chest and moved closer until their bodies were together. It was immediately warmer and Laurent, initially stiff, succumbed to his survival instinct and relaxed against Damen.

It had been easy to fall back asleep and Damen woke again this time with light filtering through the tarp. Laurent had moved in fully against him, face in Damen’s chest and hand loosely curled into the collar of his sweatshirt, knuckles against Damen’s collarbone. Damen’s arm was across Laurent’s slender waist tucking the smaller body in against his. Damen didn’t move. Laurent was still asleep, and he would do nothing to disturb him. He had Laurent in his arms. It was so simple and incredible. Damen hadn’t realized this was something he had needed, and he wanted to hold onto this moment for as long as he could. He felt complete.

Damen dozed on and off for the next hour until Laurent began to wake, Damen watched the process unsure how he would react to the proximity. Laurent woke with a soft sound. The blue eyes wandered upwards to find Damen’s and a light blush crossed his pale face.

“Hi,” Laurent said seeming shy. It was a reaction Damen hadn’t expected.

“Good morning,” Damen said and smiled.

“It was— colder than I expected,” Laurent said he didn’t seem quite sure how to react but didn’t draw away, his fist closed a little tighter around Damen’s sweatshirt.

“Are you saying you’re glad I’m here?”

“You are quite large and put off a lot of body heat,” Laurent said, he had turned his gaze straight ahead looking at Damen’s chest.

“Can’t say the same for you,” Damen said still smiling.

“Were you cold?” Laurent asked looking back up at him.

“Not unbearably.”

“I had hoped to come up with a better solution by the time the seasons changed,” Laurent pulled away, rolling stiffly off his bruised side and on to his back. He moved slowly, the bruised body unused to movement took a while to warm up after hours of sleep.

“What were your ideas?” Damen’s arm had stayed across his waist and Laurent didn’t seem bothered by the weight.

“I’ve considered a cheap RV, but I couldn’t manage to save the money. I’ve watched when rentable beach houses are unoccupied and stay there on occasion, but they aren’t made for cold weather.”

“What have you done in between?” Damen asked fingering the cotton of Laurent’s sweater.

“This, camping in vehicles or tents. I’ve stayed overnight in a mall a few times. Sometimes I’ll walk around 24-hour stores until the sun comes up.”

“You’ve had a rough summer,” Damen said.

There was something unspoken in Laurent’s expression. Since waking, a portion of his guard had been down, and now the vulnerability made him uncomfortable. “I don’t think I would have made it after the motorcycle accident if you hadn’t followed me.”

“I guess it’s good luck you chose my club to get stabbed at,” Damen said.

Laurent exhaled a quiet laugh, “Not exactly what I’d call good luck.”

Damen moved his hand up from Laurent’s waist to his jaw to turn Laurent’s face towards his, “Well not the stabbing part, but I don’t consider it unfortunate meeting you.”

Laurent held his gaze briefly, a jumble of complex emotions crossing his face before he looked away, “You’ve only known me a week.”

“It’s been a little longer than that,” Damen said.

“Has it? I've had some trouble keeping track.”

“I know it hasn’t been very long but so much has happened that it feels like longer,” Damen said. Laurent scanned the tarp and after a few moments of silence pushed up to begin untying the covering.

When the truck was packed Damen said, “I have an idea.”

-

The truck was left in a parking garage and they walked to a nearby parking lot where Damen pretended Laurent wasn’t stealing another vehicle. The motorcycle turned out to be a nuisance and had to be walked to the new car and then puzzled into the back seat.

Damen drove them across town near the Akielon and Veretian border in a suburban area.

“Real estate properties?” Laurent asked.

“These are new, and technically in a neutral zone,” Damen said. “So usually neither mob members will show up on the chance of running into each other. Most are already furnished. Enough people have moved in that it’s not deserted but not so many that we’d stand out and receive a welcome wagon. Pick one you like then hack into their ‘server’ or whatever and mark it as sold.”

Laurent had stopped looking out the window to turn towards Damen and stare at him with an expression Damen didn’t have time to decipher having to focus on the road.

“What? Is it a bad idea?” Damen asked after an unexpected silence amplified by Laurent’s gaze.

“No, it’s a good idea,” Laurent said simply. They found a collection of houses with an accessible escape route out to a main road. Laurent picked one of middling value that was a little further back from the road with large maple trees in the front.

According to Laurent they had to ditch their currently stolen vehicle and couldn’t let it be seen parked in front of the selected house. Before they left, Damen quickly carried the motorcycle behind the house and used two of Laurent’s bike chains to secure it to the back deck.

Laurent had been on his phone while Damen drove through the city following his directions. Laurent withdrew cash from various ATM’s using the debit cards he had loaded from Damen’s credit cards.

Laurent had them ditch the car and they walked a few blocks to a park. Damen carried their bags while Laurent stared down at his phone. Twice Damen had to nudge him out of the path of something on the street. Laurent had searched craigslist for a car and then arranged a meeting that day. He had chosen a decade old tan Toyota Camry, it was a bland car that wouldn’t be noticeable. They met at the park and Damen checked under the hood and started the engine before cash and ownerships papers were exchanged.

“That was surprisingly straightforward,” Laurent said sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Damen asked.

“Ironically I look like an easy mark, having someone over six-feet as company seems to make people less inclined to try and con me.”

“I have a feeling I should be sorry for the people who have tried to cheat you,” Damen said.

“Well, I’m not just a pretty face,” Laurent said.

-

It was dark by the time they returned to the house Laurent had chosen. The excursion throughout town, hopping to different ATM’s, walking to the park to buy the car, and then grocery shopping had taken up the day. Damen was already exhausted by just one day of being on the run, he was continually impressed that Laurent had been doing this successfully for months.

They parked outside on the street while Laurent opened his laptop and used the one device Damen recognized, the Wi-Fi hacking device, the only one with a straightforward name. The security system had to be shut down and reset before they could attempt a break-in. It took Laurent all of ten minutes to discover the code then change it and reset the system.

“Are you good at picking locks?” Laurent asked stopping at the front door.

“You’re the one who’s been breaking into cars.”

“That’s a different technique. I can manage but not quickly or efficiently.”

Damen recalled Laurent being chained to his bed unable to pick the lock and escape, “I can do it,” Damen took the lock pick kit from Laurent’s hand and knelt in front of the door. He needed the distraction from where his mind had been going. Fortunately, Damen knew how to pick an assortment of locks and the door opened. The warning tone from the alarm began to sound and Laurent stepped past him to turn it off.

“Let’s keep the lights off for tonight,” Laurent said using the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the entrance.

“Are we going to have to fake a move in?” Damen asked.

“I’ll scope out the neighborhood tomorrow. I’m going to open the garage door, you pull the car inside,” Laurent said.

Damen did. They unpacked, Laurent dealt with the groceries and Damen brought in their bags and then retrieved the motorcycle and brought it into the garage. He took a moment to look it over, the body was badly scratched from where it scraped against the pavement. He ran his hands over the body and noticed a loose wire. It was the brake line. The back of his Jeep was probably stained with brake fluid. It was amazing they hadn’t died riding it after the accident.

“The brake line on your bike is broken, I wouldn’t recommend riding it,” Damen said stepping into the kitchen.

Laurent paused in what he was doing, “Is that the worst of it?”

“I’ll have to look at it with more light, but probably not, it was a bad wreck,” Damen said. Laurent was quiet and turned away from him. Damen continued, “There’s a good chance I can fix it. I’ve spent a lot of time with dirt bikes.”

“What tools would you need?” Laurent asked finally turning to look at him.

“I’ll let you know, give me a chance to look it over. You were able to ride it after the wreck that’s probably a good sign,” Damen said. Laurent didn’t visibly relax but returned to what he had been doing.

The house wasn’t furnished like Damen had predicted. The upstairs was barren. The three bathrooms had all of the utilities installed and the plumbing worked. The living room had a gas fireplace that Laurent had already lit. The kitchen had a stove, refrigerator, and a few counters but that was the extent. Laurent was sitting on one of the counters busy using his switchblade to cut the previously frozen pizza he had baked. He was lit only by the dim glow of the streetlight through the window at his back and what light came from the fireplace in the next room. They were conflicting colors, cool at his back and the warm firelight at his front that flattered his features.

“It’s not what I had hoped for but it’s better than the back of a stolen truck I guess,” Damen said sitting on the floor with his back against one of the counters.

“You’ve only done this for a day, indoor plumbing isn’t something to take for granted,” Laurent said and handed down a raggedly cut piece of pizza.

“We’re going to be sleeping on the floor,” Damen said.

“Indoors and next to a fireplace,” Laurent countered.

“Have you slept outside?”

“That’s what we did last night.”

“No, I mean have you slept on the street?”

Laurent hesitated, “A few times.”

Damen lifted a hand and had another slice of pizza placed in his palm. “We can move to a different house. One that might have beds.”

Above him, Laurent said, “If you need a mattress so badly go to one of the furnished houses and bring one back here.”

“Would you help?” Damen asked unsure if he could carry a mattress by himself. The weight wouldn’t be an issue, but a large mattress would be cumbersome to carry alone.

“No,” Laurent said. “I’ve done fine without one.”

“You say that now,” Damen said standing, “But you haven’t slept on a hard surface since getting all of those bruises. I’ve noticed how stiff you are after sleeping in an actual bed.”

Laurent hadn’t seemed to consider this but also wasn’t going to change his mind. Damen said, “Give me your lock pick kit.”

Laurent did and Damen took the last two pieces of pizza and left. The solo expedition took nearly an hour. Finding a house that was empty and furnished was the most difficult part. He attempted carrying a queen size mattress by himself but had to downgrade to a full. He carried it over his head through backyards to the house.

Laurent was in front of the fire with his computer and turned towards him as he approached. Damen dropped the mattress and the gust of air from the impact lifted and blew Laurent’s hair away from his face.

“Why are you smiling?” Laurent asked.

“It's nothing,” Damen said. Laurent’s hair was often in his eyes or disrupting the lines of his cheekbones and jaw. The unobstructed look at the mildly surprised face with the bright blue eyes looking up at him had been worth the mission.

“You also managed to bring blankets?”

“The bag for the comforter was still next to the bed, and I just left the top sheet on the mattress,” Damen said. Maybe tomorrow night he would pilfer more blankets and pillows.

“It’s a little small,” Laurent commented.

“If you had gone with me we could have gotten a bigger one. There was a California king. You could have had three feet of space.”

“I wouldn’t have been much help,” Laurent said turning back to the computer.

Damen paused in removing the comforter from the bag, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Laurent said without looking up.

Damen took Laurent’s chin and turned his face up away from the screen, “Your pupils are dilated.”

“It’s dark in here,” Laurent jerked his chin from Damen’s grip, but the movement was tired and took effort.

"You've been looking into a bright screen."

“I took a little bit of morphine,” Laurent said.

“Why?”

“For the same reason I’ve taken it before.”

Damen sat back on the mattress and looked him over, “You don’t like taking the morphine.”

“I’m tired, the house is secure, perhaps I just want to sleep without hurting.”

“Will you let me see your shoulder?” Damen had thought again about the possibility of infection.

“I will if you leave me alone after,” Laurent offered his sleeve to Damen who pulled, and the sweater slipped over the blond head. Damen turned Laurent towards the firelight. The ends had begun to peel on the athletic tape that continued to secure his shoulder. He also hadn’t removed the compression wrap from his thorax.

“You shouldn’t wear this for too long,” Damen said, and Laurent promptly began to dismantle the wrap. The bruises were fading along the edges, now more blue and green than purple and black. “It’s looking better,” Damen said and lightly ran his fingers over the bruising. The flesh wasn’t as spongey and damaged, the muscle underneath was healing and growing firm again. Goosebumps chased Damen’s fingers across Laurent’s skin.

Laurent hadn’t taken his eyes from Damen’s face, “That’s not my shoulder.”

“You’re so private, can you blame me for taking advantage of the opportunity to check on the rest of you?”

“I’m not so prideful that I’d allow myself to die from otherwise survivable injuries.”

Damen turned his attention to the stab wound, “Nothing wrong with a second opinion.” The firelight tinted everything in warm light and augmented any red coloring. Carefully, he touched the perimeter where the skin was puckered. It was a three-inch wound; Damen hadn’t seen the knife to know how deep it was, but the width had been created from the blade ripping toward his collar bone. 

“How mobile is your arm? Have you had trouble moving it?”

Laurent sighed and lifted his arm to move his shoulder through a full rotation. The morphine probably helped the movement but pain was the only hindrance, nothing important had been severely damaged. The wound had improved, it had scabbed and was only a couple weeks away from being fully healed.

“Now go the other direction,” Damen attempted to be discreet when he placed two fingers against Laurent’s neck to check his pulse. The carotid wasn’t far from the shoulder where his hand had been, but he wasn’t as subtle as he hoped. Laurent’s eyes were sharp when they met his. “Your pulse is fast,” Damen said.

“That’s a common symptom of pain,” Laurent said.

“But your pupils are dilated from the morphine?” Damen smiled. He hadn’t missed Laurent’s body reacting beneath his hands. The pink nipples had tightened, and the goosebumps had lingered.

“Well, I’m not made of stone,” Laurent had flushed, “Are you finished?”

“Yes,” Damen was still smiling.

“Stop making that face,” Laurent reached past him for his sweater. Damen had briefly fantasized of pressing Laurent back into the mattress and placing his mouth where his hands had been on Laurent’s skin.

“The stitches can probably come out in a few days,” Damen said to distract his mind from its previous trajectory. He had agreed to leave Laurent alone if he’d been allowed to look him over. Damen also knew Laurent wasn’t entirely in his right mind with the morphine in his system.

“Now perhaps you could believe me when I say I’m fine.”

“If you’re getting better and dislike how morphine affects your mind why take it now?”

“It makes me foggy, but I don’t dream,” Laurent said. He had dressed in the sweater and moved past Damen to lay on the mattress where he quickly fell asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Profanity was shouted from inside the house loud enough that Damen heard it from the garage where he had been working on Laurent’s motorcycle. He entered in time to see Laurent slam his laptop shut and angrily slide it across the floor and fling his blond head back to hit the wall in agitation.

“What’s going on?” Damen asked.

“It has a virus,” Laurent said irritably. 

“You can’t fix it?”

“Eventually. Probably.”

“How did it happen?”

“The backdoor I created with the bash bunny was corrupted. Don’t—” Laurent put up a hand to cut Damen off before he could speak, “Don’t start asking me a hundred questions.”

It took a good amount of will power for Damen to not ask anything else and leave Laurent alone by returning to the garage and continue working on the motorcycle. He didn’t react to the loud thump from inside the house. The only thing for Laurent to break was his own shit or the walls.

It was their third day in the house, and they hadn’t left, except to run a few errands. They were both restless and irritated. Laurent was having his hard work negated and Damen felt physically and socially stifled. Usually, today was when he and Nikandros went to the gym, Damen would probably be in the fighter’s ring right now or spotting Nik on the bench. Instead, he was on the cold floor of the garage surrounded by motorcycle parts. The bike had been completely dismantled to check every aspect for damage. Damen had the time with nothing better to do in the empty house. Some parts needed to be ordered and Damen had given Laurent a list of what was needed.

Laurent had gone back to being distant making Damen frustrated and confused. It was the first opportunity Laurent had time to go over the material he had obtained from Guion. Either the tedious task of reviewing all the information had put him in a bad mood or he wasn’t finding anything useful.

It was late evening and Damen knew it was past time to start dinner which had become his responsibility after the _accident_. He hadn’t been active enough to feel hungry but reluctantly began to prepare a meal. Halfway through Laurent wandered in with Damen’s laptop and quietly sat on the floor with his back to one of the counters. Damen didn’t even know his computer had been packed.

“What happened to your smaller tablet thing?” Damen asked.

“It’s a touch screen so the processor is shit. Although yours isn’t much better.”

“You could have asked for the password.”

“I could have,” Laurent agreed. “This is the spaghetti from the dollar store?” He asked when Damen handed him a bowl and sat next to him.

“Yes,” Damen said. One of their short supply runs had consisted of going to a dollar and thrift store for kitchen supplies and other necessities. Laurent had nearly melted one of the cheap skillets and started a small fire, none of the utensils would last more than a few months.

The spaghetti wasn’t good but neither of them said anything. Laurent was quiet, gaze remaining on the computer screen while Damen began to clean up. He hadn’t eaten much and put his leftovers in the fridge.

“I’m going jogging,” Damen said expecting an argument.

“Okay,” Laurent said without looking up. Damen hesitated unprepared for this response.

“Okay,” he said after a moment and left wondering if Laurent had actually heard him.

It was after dark, but Damen wore a baseball hat that he didn’t remember packing. Typically, he preferred cardio in a form like sparring or a sport activity, he was uncertain how his stamina would hold with just running. He circled the neighborhood once which he estimated to be about three miles and expected to be tired but felt unsatisfied and took another lap and then another. It was the third time around the neighborhood that he felt satiated with limbs pleasantly heavy. Damen stumbled into the shower and after collapsed onto the mattress where Laurent rested on his stomach reading a book instead of staring at a screen.

“You were gone quite a while,” he said.

“Mhm,” Damen said before he fell asleep. It was the best night’s sleep he had gotten since leaving his apartment. The next day was a repeat, where he began to put the motorcycle back together, made the meals, went running, and then collapsed.

The day after they were cleaning up after another silent dinner and Damen was preparing to leave and go jogging when Laurent stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Let’s go do something fun,” he said.

-

“You’re going to need a winter coat soon,” Damen said. Laurent had his paper cup of hot chocolate pressed to his breastbone to absorb the heat. They sat together on the edge of a four-story building overlooking the harbor. The orange light from the setting sun cast a deceptively warm glow across their skin. The chilly ocean breeze was refreshing and played with Laurent’s hair. Between them was a bag of gas station snacks where they had gotten their hot chocolates.

“I’m going to need more than that. I’ve nearly worn through most of my jeans. Handwashing my clothes with cheap detergent has been unexpectedly hard on them.”

“You are starting to look like you’re actually homeless,” Damen said who didn’t mind the glimpse at pale skin through the ripped jeans.

“I have tried to deviate my appearance from the boarding school picture that’s been circulating.”

“I like the long hair,” Damen said.

“It was longer once, I cut it for school. This in-between state is annoying,” Laurent demonstrated by shaking golden strands out of his face.

“How long?” Damen asked.

Laurent glanced at him, an amused expression with quirked eyebrow, “How is my bike?”

“Back together. Just need the parts. You’ll also need new tires soon.”

“I put the order in. Should only be a few days.”

“Now can you tell me what we’re waiting for?” Damen asked.

“The light show,” Laurent said and checked his phone for the time. “Probably just a few more minutes.”

“Don’t have it timed down to the second?”

“I was given an approximate. I didn’t think you’d mind waiting, it seemed we both needed to get out of the house.”

“So, you’re aware you’ve been grumpy and distant.” Damen made his tone light and teasing.

Laurent was quiet for a minute, “I don’t have time to figure out what your intentions are.”

“My intentions?”

“If you’re just trying to fuck me.”

Damen laughed, “Laurent, you’re very attractive, but the possibility of a night in bed with you isn’t worth going through all of this.”

“Then what are your motivations for ‘_going through all this’_?”

“Other than my brother betraying me, I like you. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Like me?” Laurent seemed confused by the concept. “You don’t want to fuck me?”

“I would like to make love to you, but that isn’t a main objective,” Damen said under the full scrutiny of Laurent’s blue eyes.

“Then what is?”

“I guess start with dating,” Damen said. “I hadn’t really thought about it with everything going on.”

“Dating?” Laurent repeated.

“You do know what dating is, right?” Damen asked. Laurent’s confusion was perplexing, he didn’t know how to interpret his expression or mood.

“Yes,” Laurent said.

“Have you ever been on a date?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Laurent was quiet briefly, still looking hard at Damen, “Because anyone brave enough to ask just wanted to fuck me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you’ve lived the sort of life where people are only nice to you because they want to have sex with you.” The eye contact had gone from intense to vulnerable. Laurent’s lips had parted, and he carefully searched Damen’s face. “I like you,” Damen said, going with the impulse to continue. “You’re smart, resourceful, and quick-witted. A little bit of an asshole but with a good heart and I want to know you better.” Laurent was very still and seemed uncertain how to react.

“I— don’t think it’s feasible for two fugitives to properly date,” Laurent said and turned away from Damen, the blond hair shielding his face.

“Then we’ll get creative until this is over,” Damen said who had warmed up to the idea of dating. If he had met Laurent under normal circumstances it would have been the natural way to progress the relationship.

Laurent didn’t make eye contact, “I have to focus on my work, the mission. I have someone— people depending on me.”

Damen wasn’t given a chance to respond because at the sound of distant sirens Laurent perked up and finished the hot chocolate in order to pick up his binoculars. The harbor in front of them was lit up with the strobing reds and blues of police lights.

“What did you do?” Damen asked.

“If my uncle didn’t want me on that server there had to be a reason. He’s using the Akielon harbor to ship in drugs.”

“Why our harbor? What happened to his other trade routes?”

“I might be to blame for him branching out,” Laurent said.

“You really are busy," Damen said, "So, your uncle is responsible for giving your laptop the virus?” he asked tentatively revisiting the conversation.

“He has a hacker working for him who sometimes counteracts me and created a virus sneaky enough to get through my firewall and when I entered the system I was attacked.”

“How did you get the information then?”

“I used yours. Downloaded and recoded my firewall, then had to run a couple dozen updates and download some software, then got the Bash Bunny acclimated so I could access the backdoor.”

“How long did that take you?”

“I pulled an all-nighter,” Laurent had the binoculars pressed to his face.

“I didn’t think my laptop could handle that kind of thing.”

“It barely managed. I’m going to need another computer.”

“Do you know who the hacker is?” Damen asked after a few minutes of just watching the lights reflect off the water and buildings.

“There are different ones, I think. Sometimes it’s Berenger. He’s not really an enemy but my uncle threatens his boyfriend.”

The sound of gunshots echoed across the water, “What’s going on?” Damen asked.

Laurent handed over the binoculars, “The cops shot at a runner. Basic drug bust so far.” Damen looked through the binoculars and Laurent attempted to drop gummy bears on people walking by on the street below.

“This is what you do for fun?”

“I’m enjoying myself,” Laurent said as someone shouted up at them from the street.

“I guess it’s good to know you’d be easy to entertain on a date,” Damen said. Laurent didn’t reply and was distracted by a text.

“Looks like it’s about over. That was fast,” Laurent said.

“You don’t seem as pleased anymore,” Damen said.

“It’s a small victory in a larger war. There’s going to be a retaliation,” Laurent pulled his legs up from hanging over the edge to sit cross-legged. He tossed a few more gummy bears then said, “I can’t be distracted.”

“I wouldn’t intentionally try to distract you from what you need to do,” Damen said.

“Are you going to leave?” Laurent asked with his face turned away.

“Leave? No. Unless you want me to?”

“No,” Laurent said and dropped another piece of candy to immediately receive shouts of profanity from below.

“Then I’ll stay. You would burn down the kitchen if I left you alone anyway.”

“That pan was cheap it could have happened to anyone,” Laurent turned towards him.

“Anyone who had the burner on high. The eggs were burnt as soon as you cracked them onto the pan. You can’t feed yourself let alone other people.”

Laurent frowned at him, “Open your mouth,” he ordered and threw a gummy bear into Damen’s mouth. “There, I fed you without burning a kitchen down,” he said, and Damen laughed.

It was dark now and the police lights strobed over them. Damen gave Laurent his hot chocolate that he’d only drank a quarter of, and they kept track of how many pedestrians they hit with candy. Laurent was winning and not graciously.

“Ya know this could be considered a date,” Damen said.

“Watching people get arrested?”

“That’s not a requirement, but it doesn’t have to be a few hours in a boring restaurant. What do you like to do?”

“Ride my motorcycle.”

“Have you ever tried dirt bikes?”

“No.”

“I think you’d enjoy it,” Damen said and imagined pulling a helmet off the blond head and kissing Laurent with their bikes next to each other.

“Seems like a full day activity,” Laurent said, he held up a piece of candy and Damen opened his mouth for the gumdrop.

“We can save it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you’re going to make me wait until this is over it gives me time to plan,” Damen said.

“You're going to wait that long?"

"Did you think I'd give up?"

Laurent didn’t respond but opened his mouth and Damen tossed him a skittle and got another gumdrop in response. At some point, Laurent had turned towards him on the ledge still sitting cross-legged. Damen had half turned, one leg over the side of the building the other on the roof. He had scooted a little closer worried Laurent would lose his balance on the narrow ledge one of the times he twisted to throw candy at someone on the street. The time they spent in silence wasn’t awkward or unpleasant the foggy ghosts of their breath mingled together. Laurent was still winning the ‘hit pedestrians with candy’ game as well as getting more candy into Damen’s mouth. Damen had hit Laurent in the face more than he had gotten skittles into his mouth. His pale face had flushed with a lovely pink color, and goosebumps blanketed his skin.

“Come on,” Damen said standing and offering a hand to pull Laurent to his feet, “Let’s get out of the cold.”

“I’m fine,” Laurent said despite his hand being icy in Damen’s.

“Well, I’m cold,” Damen said and nudged him towards the stairs.

“You’re just tired of losing,” Laurent said.

“I was one hit away from tying with you,” Damen said.

“Which meant you were losing.”

“Sure,” Damen said and pinged a skittle off Laurent’s forehead, “Now we’re even.”

“You still terrible at getting candy in my mouth,” Laurent said and was turning to leave when Damen stopped him. He ran his fingers along Laurent’s jaw and tilted his chin up for a clear look at the dark eyes curtained by golden lashes. Laurent’s lips had parted naturally as his face was turned upwards allowing Damen to press a skittle into his mouth.

“Fuck you,” Laurent said and jerked away laughing. Damen pulled him back in with an arm around his waist and kissed the top of the blond head.

“That doesn’t make this a date,” Laurent said his breathing a little shallow his body still against Damen's in a half hug.

“I know,” Damen said smiling.

-

The predicted retaliation came when Damen was away. Parts for the motorcycle had come in and he had been dispatched to pick them up as well as takeout for dinner. The house was quiet when Damen returned, not that Laurent was loud, but something tripped his senses and he pulled a gun before silently going to search the rooms. There was a hole in the drywall about the size of Laurent’s combat boot but no indications of a fight. There was no hint of a break-in or of Laurent himself. There was another hole in the wall upstairs, it had been kicked several times, black scuff marks around the perimeter. It was beginning to look like a temper tantrum, and he holstered the gun. Damen still felt uneasy, particularly because he hadn’t found Laurent.

Damen discovered his laptop not far from a small dent in the wall, there was a crack in the plastic and a few keys had fallen off. When he picked it up the screen lit up to show a paused video. On the screen was a prepubescent boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes that were accentuated by dark circles and bruising. It didn’t take much deduction to figure out he was looking at Nicaise. He watched enough of the video to know that Laurent’s uncle had the boy beaten as a tactic to get Laurent to stop fucking with the drug shipments. It was clear Nicaise had been reading from a script when they recorded the video. His demeanor didn’t match that of a boy who had one eye swollen shut and a busted lip. There was defiance and indignation in the one good eye.

Next to the video was a chat log that caught Damen’s attention when a new message appeared from “N” that said: “Don’t be a pussy” in response to the message from “L” that said: “I’m sorry.”

Damen found Laurent in the upstairs bathroom shoved into the small space between the wall and the bathtub. He was curled up, knees to his chest and head in his hands.

“Hey,” Damen said carefully. “What did you do to your—” he was going to ask about the blood on Laurent’s hand before he noticed the bathroom mirror was broken. Damen knelt on the cold tile, “Can I see your hand?”

“Go away,” Laurent said into his knees.

“You have glass in your knuckles, if you let it scab over there’s going to be an infection.”

“Go away.”

“Come on, just let me see it.”

“I said go away.”

“Give me your fucking hand,” Damen said. There were tweezers on his multitool that he pulled from his pocket. Laurent resisted him when Damen grabbed his wrist. He kicked out with a black combat boot that was still covered in drywall dust. Damen caught him by the ankle.

“You can’t fight me from that corner. Cooperate and I’ll leave you alone,” Damen said. The blue eyes were hostile, but Laurent relaxed his hand and let Damen pull the bits of glass from his skin. Laurent’s blood was on Damen's hands and tweezers by the time he was finished. Damen got up to return with a washcloth and gauze, he cleaned the blood from Laurent's skin before he wrapped the slender hand in gauze.

“There’s food downstairs and a new message on your chat thing,” Damen said. “Don’t punch anything else. Just because I won’t let you burn the kitchen down doesn’t mean you get to destroy the rest of the house.” Laurent looked up with an expression that wasn’t quite as unfriendly.

Laurent appeared downstairs about ten minutes later going straight for the computer where he stayed and presumably talked with Nicaise. Damen hadn’t eaten, he’d put the paper bag of food in the oven to stay warm while he unpacked the groceries and other items. Laurent dropped the laptop on the kitchen counter, his phone sandwiched between ear and shoulder.

“Answer your phone,” Laurent grumbled and redialed, this time putting it on speaker to listen to it ring while he tapped at the computer.

“What’s up?” Said a familiar voice on the other end of the phone.

“Are you staying on campus this weekend?” Laurent asked.

“Laurent, there are words people use to initiate a conversation, three of them start with H if that helps.”

“Hell will freeze over.”

“That was close.”

“Just answer the question, Aimeric,” Laurent said.

“I don’t currently have any weekend plans,” Aimeric said with a sigh.

“Meet me outside of Belloy Hall in two hours.”

Damen heard Aimeric swearing before Laurent ended the call.

“If you want to go, pack some clothes, it might be a weekend trip,” Laurent said to Damen before he left the kitchen.


	16. Chapter 16

“You’re still toting around the hot bodyguard?” Aimeric asked.

“I’m not a bodyguard,” Damen sounded grumpy. The ninety-minute car ride with Laurent hadn’t been fun. His mood didn't improve during the trip, not that Damen blamed him, at least he hadn’t punched any more mirrors. They had arrived just after sunset but it was still light enough to see the boarding school campus. It looked about how Damen had pictured it, with old brick and stone buildings that vines of ivy had begun to claim. The school grounds had been carved into a deciduous forest and much of the area was grass meadows with large oak trees. It was a peaceful view that came with a fresh autumn breeze.

“So, what are we doing?” Aimeric asked. He had stuffed his hands deep into his coat pockets and the tip of his nose was red suggesting he had been waiting in the cold air for a while.

“We’re going to find my computer,” Laurent said.

“The i9? I have no idea where to look for that,” Aimeric said.

“Computer labs,” Laurent said, “I gave it the same casing as the ones at the school so it wouldn’t tempt someone to steal it if they thought it was just an average lab computer.”

“So, you think it’s been put in with the regular school computers? How are we supposed to find it? Open up every single casing?”

“No, there’s a Ducati and a ‘my kid’s on the honor roll’ sticker on the bottom.”

“It’s still going to take all night,” Aimeric complained. “What’s wrong with your laptop?”

“Virus,” Laurent said going past him into the building.

“Really?” Aimeric asked turning to follow him, “Who got past your firewall? Berenger?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Laurent said and ended the conversation there.

-

Two hours later and they were in a different building still looking.

“How many computer labs does this school have?” Damen asked.

“I don’t fucking know,” Aimeric said and kicked at a set of lockers. He had grown considerably grumpy after the first hour and it dragged down the group disposition. Not that it had been high to start with. “Hey, what’s wrong with him?” he nodded at Laurent who was walking ahead of them down the hall.

“What do you mean?” Damen asked thinking Aimeric was the one in a bad mood.

“He’s kind of manic,” Aimeric said. Laurent had been on a mission and was a little hard to keep up with. He would get impatient waiting for Damen to pick a lock or Aimeric to swipe his ID card and had eventually taken the ID.

“That kid, Nicaise, Laurent’s uncle had him beaten to send a message,” Damen said. Aimeric stopped walking and Damen had continued a few paces unprepared for the sudden halt. He looked back and saw Aimeric red-faced and jaw clenched.

“Are you serious?" Aimeric's hands were balled into fists. "_Are you fucking serious_?” he went after Laurent. The blond head turned towards the shout in time to be pushed hard against the wall. Laurent shoved Aimeric back which started the fight. Damen was several paces away and watched them grapple, unimpressed with their fighting skills. They went down, Laurent briefly on top, but Aimeric had longer limbs and knocked him off.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Aimeric was saying, “Why do you think you’re the only one who cares?”

Laurent recognized he was in danger of being pinned and threw a punch that connected with Aimeric’s chin. It didn’t succeed in making Aimeric lose his place on top. Damen let Laurent take a return hit to his cheekbone where the previous bruise had just healed. When they were even, Damen knocked Aimeric back and grabbed Laurent by the hood of his coat to pull him across the floor and out of Aimeric’s reach.

“Don’t start a fistfight when someone is on top of you,” Damen said. Laurent ignored his offered hand and stood on his own turning towards Aimeric.

“You should have told me,” Aimeric said wiping at his mouth to check for blood.

“I didn’t think it would bother you this much,” Laurent said coldly, straightening his clothes.

“You're full of shit. You know I spend more time with him than you do,” Aimeric looked like he wanted to continue the fight and eyed Damen like he might try to get past him.

“I’m doing all of this for him,” Laurent said coldly, contrasting Aimeric’s hot temper.

Aimeric shook his head and pulled out his phone to make a call, and glared at Laurent while he waited for an answer. “Hey, man. Heard you got roughed up.”

They could hear Nicaise talk on the other end, “Did Laurent text you?” he sounded exasperated.

“Actually, I’m looking at him.”

“Tell him he’s a pussy.” Nicaise could be barely heard through the phone.

“You’re a pussy,” Aimeric relayed the message, “He’s on a rampage looking for his computer… No, the i9… Yeah, the one he built.” There was an indecipherable mumble on the other end. “Nicaise wants that computer when you die.”

“Let me talk to him,” Laurent held out his hand for the phone.

“He’s not leaving you the computer. You should see the guy he’s been hanging out with,” Aimeric said putting the phone on speaker.

“The Akielon?” Nicaise asked.

“Yeah, he’s here now, a lot of sexual tension,” Aimeric said. He had an unmistakable ‘fuck you’ expression directed at Laurent and seemed intent on taunting him.

“Twenty bucks says they haven’t fucked yet,” said Nicaise seemingly catching on to the situation.

“Or they have and it’s great. The guy is pretty big, ya know,” Aimeric said.

Laurent crossed his arms, eyes an icy blue and full of wrath. Aimeric seemed immune to the death glare, having built up a tolerance. Damen was admittedly amused seeing Laurent uncomfortable and outnumbered.

“Please,” Nicaise said. “We’ll be retiring him to a nunnery when he’s old.”

“He’s not going to make it to old age,” Aimeric said, his hazel eyes still hard and locked on Laurent’s blue ones.

Laurent said, “Nunneries are for women.”

“I know,” Nicaise said in response to Laurent.

“You’re really okay, though?” Aimeric asked.

“I’m fine,” Nicaise sighed exasperated. “I have to go. Ask Lo about that security footage.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Aimeric said. “I’ll see you next weekend."

Aimeric and Laurent continued to eye each other. Damen was certain that if he hadn't been present they would have continued their fight.

“Let’s keep looking,” Laurent said and brushed past Aimeric.

“They’re going to close the buildings soon. Security will show up and kick us out,” Aimeric said.

“They’ll have to catch us,” Laurent said over his shoulder.

Another hour and another building later, Aimeric said, “I’m done. There’s less than an hour before the cafeteria closes and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Laurent looked at the time and said, “Fine.”

Damen watched Laurent, knowing he had to be tired and sore. He had hit Aimeric with the same hand he had punched the mirror with earlier that day. Both boy’s faces were already showing signs of bruising and swelling.

“Are you coming? I could sneak you in since it’s late.”

“Has anyone broken that cappuccino machine?” Laurent asked.

“Not yet.”

The cafeteria was large and nearly empty. Most of those still lingering were studying, with their focus on laptops or textbooks, and didn’t pay any attention to the three of them. They picked a booth behind a partition where Aimeric dumped his coat and left to get food.

“There’s a fruit and salad bar,” Laurent said to Damen, “Or you can follow Aimeric he’s probably getting pasta or something with cheese.”

“I’ll look around,” Damen said who found the fruit bar and took a bowl of watermelon, he had eaten the takeout he had brought back earlier and wasn't especially hungry. He was back at the booth first followed by Laurent who slid in next to him rather than take the empty seat on the opposite side.

“It makes more sense to stay here tonight and continue looking for my computer in the morning,” Laurent said as though continuing a conversation.

“That’s fine,” Damen agreed.

“Aimeric doesn’t have a roommate, so we’ll stay in his room,” Laurent had only gotten coffee and spoke while he stirred in creamer. Damen noticed blood had seeped through the bandage on Laurent’s hand.

“You should get some ice for your face,” Damen said.

“Aimeric can’t hit that hard,” Laurent said and pulled his legs onto the seat to curl up, something Damen had noticed he did when he felt comfortable.

“Remind me to show you how to wrestle.”

“Didn’t like seeing me pinned on my back by another male?”

“I didn’t like seeing you get hurt,” Damen said.

“Aimeric’s always been a hothead, you get used to giving or taking hits with him,” Laurent said focused on his coffee.

“This is nostalgic,” Aimeric said dropping his tray across from them, “Except for you,” he pointed at Damen.

“Did you miss me?” Laurent asked his voice carrying a lilt, something between a light teasing and sarcasm.

“Definitely not over the summer. If you’d been around the only thing I would have heard is ‘Laurent got into Harvard’. ‘Laurent is going to be a lawyer’. ‘Aimeric, why can’t you be more like Laurent?’” Aimeric used different voices for his impersonations. “Now you’re the family disappointment.”

“You’re still second place.” Laurent hadn’t looked up from his drink as he took small sips. “The praise would have only lasted a month before my uncle began to imply I had gotten in under false pretenses. I hacked the system or blew someone in admissions.”

“You forgot about how you’re letting the family down by moving away and trying to go straight.”

“Right. I’m irresponsible and a traitor,” Laurent said calmly.

“So, about that security footage,” Aimeric said.

“I need more coffee first,” Laurent said sliding out of the booth.

“He better get decaf,” Aimeric muttered poking at his phone

“What security footage?” Laurent asked when he reclaimed the seat next to Damen.

Aimeric handed over his cell with the video queued up. Laurent dropped the phone between him and Damen on the table and pressed play. He had scooted closer and their thighs touched distracting Damen until the video started. It featured Laurent, initially unrecognizable with the shorter neater hair and school uniform. The footage was grainy and the time stamp on the bottom told him whatever was about to happen had taken place about a year ago.

Laurent on the video was walking through a parking lot when his demeanor changed from relaxed to guarded with glances over his shoulder. He broke into a sprint as a black car raced into the frame. The angle of the camera changed and caught Laurent jumping onto the hood of another car to avoid being hit by the black Dodge. Before he could recover, a man rushed from the vehicle to grab Laurent by the ankle and jerked him roughly off the hood and onto the pavement. The view was blocked, and the fall wasn’t visible nor the proceeding scuffle. Laurent was lifted and violently thrown against the car where he dazedly took a gut punch that doubled him over. The attacker held him bent over and tied Laurent’s hands behind his back. Before Laurent could be tossed into the trunk he kicked out, striking the kidnapper and was hit in return falling onto his knees. The blond head lifted, and Damen watching realized Laurent had deliberately been pushed down to get a look at the license plate before he was forced into the trunk. The car drove out of view of the camera.

Damen took a breath and reminded himself that the current Laurent was sitting next to him calmly drinking from his mug.

“What about it?” Laurent asked.

“You failed to mention that Govart kidnapped you last year,” Aimeric said angrily looking at Laurent like he wanted to take another swing at him.

“It was the first time my uncle tried to have me killed,” Laurent said, seeming unbothered and more interested in his drink, “There were explosives in the trunk. Govart was meant to leave the car in a remote location where it would detonate.”

“Jesus, Laurent,” Aimeric ran a hand through his hair.

“How did you escape?” Damen asked.

“My phone was in my back pocket after I got my hands untied I called the cops.” Laurent stole a piece of watermelon from Damen’s bowl then slipped out of the booth to refill his mug.

Aimeric sighed and rubbed his temples, “I should just kill him myself, then I won’t have to worry when he disappears or wonder if he was tortured first.”

Damen was uncertain what to say, he didn’t feel like eating anymore. “Govart is the one who stabbed him, right?” Laurent had nearly been shoved into another trunk a few weeks ago and by the same person.

“You thinking of killing him?” Aimeric asked.

“Crossed my mind,” Damen said.

“You could use Laurent as bait to find him.”

“I’d rather not risk his safety.”

“Govart risks his safety,” Aimeric pointed out. “He’d probably agree to it.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Laurent said returning, “I want him alive.”

“That better be decaf,” Aimeric said to which Laurent shrugged and stole more of Damen’s watermelon.

When the cafeteria closed Aimeric led them back to his dorm. Somewhere along the journey, Laurent had disappeared.

“He does that,” Aimeric said as he unlocked his door and allowed Damen entry. The dorm room was bigger than expected with not just the obligatory two desks and two-bed setup but also containing a sofa, tv, and adjacent bathroom.

“Where does he go?”

“I saw him putting carrots in his pockets so most likely the stables.”

“Stables? As in horses?” Damen asked wondering for the tenth time that day how big this school was.

“Yeah, he was on the equestrian team,” he said. Damen had been imagining Laurent in the knee-high black boots and tights pants of an equestrian outfit when he was interrupted. “You wanna play?” Aimeric offered Damen a game controller. Damen accepted and sat on the opposite side of the sofa. The silence between them wasn’t especially comfortable and Damen was glad for a way to occupy his hands.

After a while, Aimeric said, “So, _have_ you had sex?”

“No,” Damen said, “I can’t even get him to go on a date.”

“You asked him?”

“Kind of,”

“What did he say?”

“That he couldn’t afford to be distracted from his mission.”

Aimeric shook his head but didn’t verbally respond and they fell into a silence broken only by conversation related to the game. Laurent returned discreetly over an hour later smelling faintly musty like hay and horse.

“You’d better shower if you expect to get in bed with me,” Aimeric said.

Laurent with his hair damp from the shower laid on his stomach reading, while Damen and Aimeric played. It was a comforting and familiar way to pass the time, but Damen missed the friends he usually played with. He wished he had a way to talk to Nikandros and wanted to know how he was doing, and what was happening with his brother and the Akielons. Damen felt lonely and it didn’t help that he had become used to sleeping next to Laurent and was relegated to the unclaimed bed. They were twin sized and Laurent and Aimeric were small enough to fit together in one, whereas Damen was given a bed to himself with spare blankets and pillow. They had bickered earlier about someone taking the couch, but it was small and not made to be slept on so they grumpily agreed to share a bed. The lights went off and eventually, Damen slept.

-

“I’ll break your finger,” Laurent said and rolled over to face Aimeric, after throwing an elbow back into his ribs didn’t stop him from poking Laurent in the back.

“We should talk,” Aimeric said.

“I didn’t think he would actually hurt Nicaise,” Laurent said quietly.

“That’s stupid of you, but not the topic I had in mind.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Why are you hauling around that giant?” Aimeric propped his head up with an elbow in the pillow.

“What do you expect me to do with him?”

“I mean if you don’t like him why are you keeping him around?”

“I never said I didn’t like him.”

“But not enough to date him?”

“You talked about that?”

“He seems nice for an Akielon don’t be a dick and lead him on if you’re just using him for something.”

“That’s not my intention. I can’t be distracted,” Laurent said.

“He is distracting," Aimeric breathed a laugh, "Fucking hot and like seven feet tall. If he wasn’t super into you, I might make a move.”

“You forgot the ability to bench 500,” Laurent muttered.

“Right, fucking beef,” Aimeric laughed quietly and Laurent snorted.

“He said he’d wait,” Laurent said after a pause.

Aimeric sighed, “You’re being deliberately dense. Do _you_ want to wait? Because it's not nice to do that to someone.”

“I don’t know.”

“Is this one of those times you want my opinion or are you going to tell me to shut up?”

“Depends on what you say.”

“I think you don’t expect to survive your ‘mission’. Or maybe you don’t want to, which is a different conversation I want to have. I know you like him, you'd never give him a second thought otherwise. It's nice knowing you're actually human. So if you’re going kamikaze why deny yourself something you want?”

After a hesitation, Laurent said, “He was there.” Avoiding Aimeric’s eyes was difficult with less than a foot of space between them.

“Where?” Aimeric asked before he understood with an, “Oh.” After a long and heavy silence, he said, “You’ve spent days of your life reviewing that footage. I’ve looked at it at least fifty times. We don’t know what started the shooting, something went wrong. More Akielons died than Veretians and the Akielons suck at subterfuge so I know you’ve connected the dots.”

“So much evidence was lost.” Laurent’s throat hurt and he closed his eyes briefly.

“When you have undercover mobsters on the police force you can get away with that shit.”

Laurent rolled onto his back and covered his face with his hands. “I still want to know who wielded the gun.”

“They’re just a pawn. Keep your focus further back on the chessboard.”

“Some of the chess pieces are greyer than I initially thought,” Laurent said still covering his face.

“Well, that guy over there isn’t a different color than you. Metaphorically, I mean.”

“Why are you so certain about that?”

“I’ll let you figure it out. You’re the smart one, right?” Aimeric said, “Just trust me. I know you're a master cockblocker, but Auguste would want you to be happy.”

“Shut up,” said Laurent.

Aimeric laughed, “Seriously, Lo, it's obvious there's something between you two, I'll actually be pissed if you've managed to find like a fucking soul mate or some true love shit before me. So to quote Nicaise: _don't be a pussy_. Plus, it’s a good way to get over… ya know.”

“_Aimeric_,” Laurent warned.

“I’m done,” Aimeric grinned and held up a hand in surrender.

Laurent exhaled, and glanced over, “This conversation didn’t happen.”

“I’ll file it away with the other ones that have never happened.

“Thanks.”

-

Aimeric had ditched the morning computer hunt to steal breakfast from the cafeteria. Laurent was oddly chatty, and Damen listened to the nuances of circuitry and hardware while he went from computer to computer and tilted them up to see if there were stickers on the bottom. They had broken into the building using a counterfeit staff ID and the large stone hall was empty and quiet except for the impromptu lecture on building computers.

“Are you nervous about something?” Damen asked.

“Hm? No, why?” Laurent said. Damen didn’t point out that Laurent seemed to talk more when he was anxious.

They were finished searching the building which now included lecture halls and were on their way out from the middle of the second floor hall when a shout turned them.

A security guard had spotted them, “Hey, you can’t be in here.”

“Run.” Laurent took off and Damen followed with the security guard not far behind. Laurent was almost unexpectedly quick, better at turns and zigzags that helped him keep pace with Damen’s longer legs. They were across the green campus leaving the guard behind and finally stopped in the hallway outside Aimeric’s room.

Laurent with his hands on his knees began to laugh breathlessly.

“What?” Damen asked also trying to catch his breath.

“I can run.” Laurent looked up with bright eyes, and then Damen laughed too realizing how much Laurent had healed from the motorcycle accident.

“Does it hurt?” Damen asked.

“Yes, but it feels good.” Laurent closed his eyes briefly and concentrated on deep breaths his expression a mix of pleasure and pain that stirred something within Damen.

With the endorphins driving him, Damen backed Laurent up against the wall and slid a hand into the blond hair cupping his head. The blue eyes were intense at such close proximity. Damen made it clear what he was doing, allowing Laurent the opportunity to object. When he didn’t, Damen kissed him. Slowly, just a caress of lips as they were still breathing hard from their sprint. Then Laurent responded, opened his mouth, and kissed him back. Laurent’s hand rested on Damen’s bicep and in response, Damen tugged him a little closer tucking their bodies together. Damen was almost giddy with the sensation of the soft lips and the clean smell of Laurent's skin.

“Get a room,” Aimeric said unlocking the door next to them while carrying his haul from the cafeteria. Laurent separated himself from Damen who wanted to continue what they had been doing. He looked at Laurent warmly who was a little stiff with cheeks pink and hair mussed from Damen's hand. “Come on, it’s still hot,” Aimeric called out to them. Laurent entered, dashing any hopes Damen had of continuing and claimed one of the coffee cups. He threw himself down on the couch and crossed his legs nonchalantly. Damen took his coffee with a bagel and apple before sitting next to Laurent.

Aimeric then handed Laurent a banana and said, “You’re out of practice.”

* * *

**A/N: I thought I'd include the bonus scene I wrote for this chapter~**

Jord leaned against the side of the police cruiser while waiting for his takeout order, his gaze was directed at his phone when it began to buzz with an incoming call. The number wasn’t saved in his contacts, but he recognized it and answered after the first ring.

“Hey,” Jord said already feeling tired.

“I need you to find me.” It wasn’t unusual for Laurent to skip phone etiquette, but his voice was higher, distant, and difficult to hear.

“Find you?” Jord asked and felt the prickling beginnings of anxiety. Something was already different. Typically, Laurent needed a favor that was time-sensitive or had a tip of some illegal proceedings. Either way, it meant work for Jord and a lot of bullshitting on his paperwork.

“I’m in the trunk of a car,” Laurent said this matter of fact but there was a shaky quality to his voice.

“Tell me what you know.” Jord was in the cruiser, he flipped the lights on and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Black Dodge… Charger I think. License number XZ3P27.”

“Are you moving?”

“Yes.”

Jord picked up his radio and repeated the information to everyone on patrol. “Stay on the phone, I’m going to call dispatch,” Jord put Laurent on hold and called the station to have Laurent’s phone tracked. “Tell me what happened,” Jord said when he reconnected to Laurent.

“Govart grabbed me outside of the school. He stopped and picked up at least one other person. I think they intend to kill me.”

“We’ll find you,” Jord said. He had expected this to happen someday but not so soon. He had worked hard for four years to get Laurent to adulthood, but ever since he had gotten his motorcycle license things had escalated.

“We’ve been on the highway for several minutes. If we reach the destination soon, I suspect they’ll rape me first it will allow you more time to find me.”

“For fuck's sake, Laurent.” Jord still hadn’t gotten used to the way that kid talked. Huet, another officer also used to dealing with Laurent, had described him as ‘face of an angel and mouth of a whore.’

The Amber Alert for Laurent went off on Jord’s phone and he heard the feedback as it also sounded on Laurent’s. He grumbled something Jord couldn’t make out but it sounded like swearing. He kept Laurent on the line even as he communicated over the radio with the other officers and was sent updates on Laurent’s location. The Dodge was headed North on the highway outside the city. He was ten miles away and slowly gaining.

“I think we’re taking an exit,” Laurent said. “Exit 13,” he added after a pause. Of course, Laurent was also tracking his location. If Jord hadn’t known him he may have been fooled into believing he was calm, but he could hear the breathy quality of panic beneath the façade of composure.

“We’re not far behind you.”

“I can hear the radio updates so don’t lie to me.” Laurent was hard to hear his voice distant and muffled. Jord was perhaps ten minutes away. If Laurent was wrong about his kidnapper’s intentions, he could be dead within minutes.

“You’re clever enough to stall Govart,” Jord said.

“Jord…” Laurent’s voice was breathy and Jord felt his hair rise with the next words, “There are explosives in here.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, Jord said, “I have to call that in.” He didn’t know what to say but had to warn the other officers that the vehicle they pursued could explode. The bomb squad would also have to be called and that made everything ten times more complicated.

“Do you remember where my stash is?” It was the first time Laurent had spoken in several minutes.

“Laurent—”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Jord accelerated he had been pushing triple digits, now he was past that and the other vehicles were barely moving out of his path in time. Jord could only hear muted sounds of the car through the phone but nothing from Laurent. He didn’t think Laurent had given up but reminding Jord where his life’s work was hidden meant he was scared. It was easy to forget that Laurent, with his sharp mind and aloof nature, was only seventeen.

“We’re on a gravel road, it doesn’t have a name,” Laurent said quietly. Jord barely heard him. According to the updates from dispatch he was five minutes away. Then the call dropped. Laurent’s phone had lost a signal.

The next few minutes went by slowly enough that it felt like an hour. The cruiser fishtailed on the gravel road. Jord now had an entourage, three other cruisers had caught up to them intersecting from several directions to converge on the gravel road. Laurent, or at least his phone, had stopped moving.

What looked like an abandoned house came into sight as the cavalcade of police cruisers crested a hill. It was the only building within miles, sitting on several acres of barren brown fields. It was a good place to blow up a vehicle and not have it noticed. The Dodge was in front of the house and appeared abandoned. The men had likely heard the police vehicles approaching and fled.

Jord was out of the cruiser and preparing to open the trunk when another officer stopped him. “We can’t mess with the car until we know it’s not rigged to blow,” he said and Jord was gently pulled away from the vehicle.

“Laurent? You still in there, kid?” Jord asked and received a muffled affirmative. “Hold on we’re going to get you out.”

From the other side of the house, shots were fired. Jord stayed by the Dodge and a few moments later Govart and an unknown accomplice were brought out in handcuffs. There was a second escape vehicle on the other side of the house and the officers had shot at them when they attempted to flee.

“Did you rig the car to explode?” Huet asked.

“Yes,” the man with Govart said, “If you try to get him out then everyone nearby will be killed.”

“The bomb squad is on the way,” Huet said.

Govart spoke, “Or the explosives are on a remote timer and waiting will mean you’ll all die.” The accomplice sighed and looked heavenward.

Huet and Jord exchanged a look as Govart and the other man were taken away.

“If it’s on a timer we can’t wait for the bomb squad,” Jord said.

“If you open the trunk, you’re risking everyone here.”

There was a thump from inside the trunk and it sounded like Laurent was saying, “Timer.”

“Get everyone back and I’ll open it,” Jord said.

After an argument with Huet, the squad cars were moved back and Jord was alone. He didn’t know how well Laurent could hear him, but after a breath, he said, “I’m going to open the trunk.”

Another deep breath and Jord hit the button. Nothing happened when the back popped open and there was a half-second of silence. Jord startled when Laurent threw himself out of the back and into his arms. Jord got an arm under Laurent’s knees and lifted him out and away from the trunk. Laurent took a shuddering breath with his face pressed into Jord’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Jord asked as he set Laurent on his feet.

“Yes,” Laurent was recovering.

“Good. Come on,” he said and hustled Laurent down the hill to the cluster of squad cars.

Jord had to take Laurent to the station to get a statement. He respected Laurent’s silence during the drive, allowing him to process.

Laurent was kept at the station for three hours. A medical examiner had looked him over in that time, and apart from scrapes and bruises, Laurent was physically fine. In the interrogation room, Jord watched from behind the one-way glass while Laurent played the recording he had taken of the conversation between Govart and the accomplice. It wasn’t easy to hear everything that was said since Laurent had been in the trunk at the time of recording, but the general intention was clear. The men were discussing, in graphic detail, the logistics of how to rape Laurent before the timer for the explosives went off. Laurent relistened to the conversation with a neutral expression. This had been his expected fate only minutes before the cops had arrived and now it made more sense why Laurent had jumped into trusted arms.

“Govart will do some time, but not much. The charges never stick with him,” Huet said as the recording continued to play on the other side of the glass.

“I know,” Jord replied.

It was after midnight when Jord drove Laurent back to his dorm at the boarding school. He wanted to check in on Laurent’s mental state but was unsure where to start the conversation. Laurent had turned towards the passenger window his head resting on his fist.

“How are you doing?” Jord finally asked.

Laurent was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised my uncle tried to have me killed, even after everything.” Being of the very small minority who knew of the details of Laurent’s relationship with his uncle, Jord wasn’t sure if he was surprised.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For a moment I wasn’t afraid. I thought it might be nice to rest. Maybe I’d get to see Auguste again.”

Jord mechanically tapped his fingers on the wheel, uncomfortable, “I’m glad you’re still here. My job would be boring without you around,” he said. Laurent snorted but didn’t say anything else and Jord didn’t push him.

“You’re not going to be alone tonight, are you?” Jord asked as he pulled up in front of Laurent’s dorm.

“Aimeric is supposed to be here. I guess I should introduce you two, but I’m not sure you’d get along,” Laurent said his voice sounding a little monotone.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Laurent said but hesitated before exiting the vehicle. “Thank you,” he said lifting his eyes to Jord’s.

“Any time, kid,” he said and watched until Laurent safely enter the building.


	17. Chapter 17

The afternoon began the third round of the computer hunt in which Aimeric also managed to get out of by claiming he had a date. This sparked an argument that Damen had sat back quietly and observed. The uninhibited bitchy remarks turned his ears red and he may have left if they didn’t have a history of coming to blows. Damen suspected there was something deeper to the argument than just Aimeric’s leaving but didn’t have enough context clues to decipher the reality of the dispute. In the end, Laurent couldn’t physically stop Aimeric from leaving, so he got his way and was gone telling them: “Don’t wait up.”

It was evening when they found the computer in the second room of the last building. Laurent wanted to remove the casing to be certain it was his. Damen handed over the multitool and watched Laurent take the computer apart. When the hard-outer shell was removed Laurent pointed out his initials, L.R. scratched into the metal plating of the hard drive.

Damen carried the computer box under his arm back to the dorm and Laurent managed with the monitor and keyboard. It was dark enough that it wasn’t obvious what they were carrying, and the campus was mostly deserted being a weekend.

Once back at the dorms, Laurent began to set up the computer and said, “There’s a gym to the left side of the lobby,” he held out a counterfeit ID card.

“Thanks,” Damen said, a little startled at having his needs anticipated.

“Auguste used to get twitchy the way you do when he wasn’t active enough,” Laurent said as explanation.

It was a decent gym for being tucked away in a dorm building and was unsurprisingly empty for a Saturday night. The weight bench didn’t have as high a weight option as the ones he was used to since the machines here were geared more towards cardio than strength. Damen was just pleased to use exercise equipment again and spent a little over an hour in the small gym before returning to the room to shower.

“What do you want for dinner?” Laurent asked.

“Whatever you want. Could I check my email, or would that bring down hellfire upon us?”

Laurent looked up amused, “You can check. I suppose I should get you a burner phone.”

Damen took Laurent’s place at the desk as Laurent said, “Pizza?”

“Sure.”

Laurent made the call and Damen scanned through junk and promotional email until a message from Pallas caught his attention. It contained information about the plight of the Akielons as Laurent’s uncle was integrating mercenary Veretians into the territory and fights were occurring daily. Anyone Damen was close to was being especially targeted. Nikandros was being constantly monitored as Jokaste was looking for any reason to label him a traitor.

“What’s wrong?” Laurent asked and leaned in to look over Damen’s shoulder. Damen read the email over again with Laurent who finished twice as quickly. “It’s a trap,” he said drawing away. “He was probably coerced to send that.”

Damen didn’t move, still staring at the screen. It sounded like Pallas. The cadence, the tone, and abbreviating every possible word, but it wouldn't be like him to, unintentionally or not, lure Damen into a trap. He didn’t realize how long he had been sitting there until Laurent told him the pizza had arrived.

Laurent used his foot to turn the desk chair until Damen faced him. “It’s a trap,” he repeated.

“Why use Pallas? Why not Nikandros?”

“Nikandros worked hard to get you out he wouldn’t pull you back in.”

“Do you know anything about this?” Damen asked.

Laurent took a breath, “Not specifically. I suspect the part about my uncle trying to take over the territory is true.”

Damen ran a hand through his hair, “So it’s possible this is what’s actually happening.”

“Most likely,” Laurent said. “Even if he wasn’t pressured to write that email it wouldn’t be safe for you to return.”

“I should have insisted Nik come with us,” Damen said.

“It wouldn’t stop there; you’d want to liberate all of the Akielons.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Damen asked.

Laurent lifted an eyebrow, “Eat something before you decide to become William Wallace.”

Damen ate a portion of the pizza while Laurent reclaimed the desk chair. He didn’t realize he had begun to pace until Laurent told him to do it outside. After a period of pacing through deserted hallways, he returned to collapse on the small twin bed. Damen must have dozed off because he didn’t notice that Laurent had approached until he felt the bed shift as he sat next to him.

“When I take down my uncle it will also implicate Kastor and Jokaste. It will jeopardize the security of nearly everyone involved,” Laurent said.

“You want to take down both mobs,” Damen said sitting up as understanding hit.

“Cut the head off the snake,” Laurent said simply.

“Do you want to die?” Damen asked incredulous.

“What I want is to have my brother back,” Laurent said, “Since I couldn’t save him, I’ll save Nicaise, even Aimeric, and everyone else who has suffered because of our relatives.”

“Like I want to save Nik and the others," Damen said, “We have the same goal.” 

“We’re not adversaries,” Laurent said it slowly and looked hard at Damen.

Damen returned the gaze confused by the sudden intensity. All day Laurent had been withdrawn, obviously thinking hard about something, but Damen was unable to interpret the thoughts in the blue eyes. Seeming to realize he had been staring a little intensely, Laurent self-consciously tucked hair behind an ear.

Damen spoke carefully, “I never considered you my enemy,” he said. Laurent scoffed. “I haven’t. Not since meeting you.”

“How can you trust me after what your brother did to you?”

“Because you are good and trying to save your family while Kastor is destroying his,” Damen said.

“I’m not related to Aimeric or Nicaise,” Laurent said quietly.

“But you love them.”

Laurent turned a light pink and broke the eye contact. He fidgeted and repositioned on the bed, “Well, I— yes,” he said with a breath. “Don’t tell Aimeric.”

Damen laughed softly, “I won’t.” A thread had come loose on Laurent’s sweater and Damen touched it, his knuckles against Laurent’s shoulder.

“Are you going to leave?” Laurent asked, the blue eyes lifted from Damen’s hand to his eyes.

“What? No."

“What about your friends?” 

“You’re right, it’s a trap. They’re not in mortal danger at the moment. Besides, I made you a promise.”

“Did you?” The blond hair had become untucked and fell back into Laurent’s face.

“You know I did, I told you I’m not going to leave you,” said Damen. They gazed at each other, Laurent’s eyes were hard and searching contradicting the pink blush. “I want to help you with your mission," Damen said.

“Why?” Laurent asked.

“If we’re not enemies and have the same goal, why not work together?” Damen said. Laurent’s eyes were a little wide as they scrutinized his face and Damen didn’t know how to interpret the expression. There was a tension to Laurent that kept his body still and breathing controlled, but Damen still couldn’t identify the source. “What’s been on your mind today?” he asked and re-tucked the strands of blond hair.

“I— I want you to make love to me,” Laurent blurted and turned crimson before turning his face away. Deliberately, Damen leaned back on his hands changing his body posture to relaxed. It was the first time Laurent said it that way, ‘make love’ instead of ‘fuck’.

“I said I’d stay. You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Laurent said.

“You’re going to have to be able to look at me,” Damen said. Laurent met Damen’s gaze his body still mostly turned away. “Why now?” he asked.

Laurent was regaining some composure, “Why not now? Aimeric isn’t coming back tonight. There’s opportunity.”

“There’s been plenty of opportunity, why here on the smallest bed we’ve had access to?”

“I’m— taking some advice under consideration.”

“Laurent, my staying doesn’t hinge on gratification, we can just be friends for as long as you want.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

“Would you rather have something else from me?”

“I want you to show me the difference between ‘making love’ and ‘fucking’.” Laurent’s face was serious. Damen studied him, still unsure how to decipher this mood. The blue eyes were clear, and he seemed determined to get what he wanted. “You’ll ravage me in the hallway but not on a twin bed?” Laurent said as Damen hesitated.

Damen frowned at the word choice but wasn’t going to be baited into a confrontation. “If this is why you’ve been nervous all day, I just want to be sure it’s what you actually want.”

“I told you it is,” Laurent said.

“Then kiss me,” Damen said it like a challenge, and it made Laurent hesitate. It was slowly becoming apparent that Laurent didn’t have a template for how to initiate sex or anything romantic and had so far only succeeded in making the situation awkward. For a moment Damen didn’t think Laurent was going to do it and was about to call his bluff when he moved, shifting on to his knees to match Damen’s height. He placed a hand on Damen’s shoulder for balance, his body tense as though fighting a flight response. Golden lashes veiled blue eyes as Laurent’s gaze dropped to Damen’s mouth. He held very still as Laurent leaned in and resisted touching him remembering the previous rules of engagement. Laurent kissed with slightly parted lips and Damen kissed back carefully, his heart felt like it had caught fire from the sudden burst of warmth in his chest. Damen felt the breath against his cheek once Laurent had pulled away, he was still so close, and Damen gently pressed his mouth against the pulse point in Laurent’s neck and felt the inhale of surprise. Damen brought his hands up to Laurent’s slender waist to steady him.

“Come here,” Damen said and moved Laurent to straddle his lap, the knees in ripped jeans by Damen’s hips. The position put them at a more equivalent height making more of Laurent accessible to Damen’s mouth. Laurent was rigid, his spine painfully straight, it was obvious he was uncomfortable, but he had asked for this and didn’t retract any previous requests or demands.

Damen had enjoyed the reaction that kissing Laurent’s neck had evoked and returned to the slender throat to find his pulse fast. Damen allowed himself the delight of nuzzling, sensing the moment Laurent’s uncertainty turned to something else. Damen wanted to pull him closer and burn into his memory the feel of Laurent’s body and scent of his skin. He restrained himself from following his normal impulses as he could feel Laurent’s body stiff beneath his hands with over awareness of the touch.

They had been in this position before when Laurent had come to rescue him, but that experience didn’t count in Damen’s mind. They had both been under duress, Damen drugged, and Laurent injured far more than Damen knew at the time. It was almost a different Laurent, he didn’t know how rare it was for him to partake in physical contact let alone anything sexual. To Damen, this counted as the first time they had been intimate, and he wanted to go slow in order to fully indulge and enjoy.

Damen took Laurent’s mouth with a hand cupping the blond head and kissed him the way he had longed, deep and sensual that left him a little dizzy from the feel of Laurent’s tongue against his. Laurent’s eyes were half-closed when they drew away his lips still parted. He flinched just slightly when Damen’s hands moved from his waist to his hips.

“You’re sure?” Damen asked. Even though he was overjoyed to finally be in this situation he didn't like seeing Laurent uncomfortable.

In answer, Laurent pulled off his sweater leaving only a thin white button-down shirt. “Do I seem uncertain?”

Watching Laurent carefully, Damen began to undo the buttons on his shirt and slowly exposed the pale skin from his throat and chest down to the taut stomach. Laurent was motionless as Damen pushed the shirt off his shoulders to have it catch on his wrists. He took one slender hand, then the other, and undid the buttons there freeing Laurent of the shirt. He felt a surge of pleasure at seeing Laurent showing signs of arousal with his nipples tight and ribs shifting beneath the skin with each heavy breath. It had been several days since Damen had seen the bruises and they drew his attention. Now blue and green Laurent was nearly healed. Gently Damen ran a hand up Laurent’s side over the bruising to feel the firmness of the recovering muscle.

They gazed at each other until Damen broke the eye contact to pull off his own shirt off. Laurent’s gaze dropped automatically to the exposed skin and lifted a hand to smooth, almost unthinkingly, over his shoulder and bicep. Damen was delighted by this simple gesture and he pulled Laurent in against him reveling in the sensation of skin to skin contact.

It was Laurent’s hand that first reached between them and popped the button on Damen’s jeans, and then Damen found himself pushed onto his back, the jeans tugged off. There was now no hiding his excitement. Laurent had seen him nearly naked before, but Damen still felt exposed under the blue-eyed scrutiny.

With a quick movement Damen flipped them both and Laurent quietly gasped as he was rolled, a 180 flip on the narrow mattress.

Laurent was breathless as he said, “Like being on top?”

“Yes,” Damen said, and it was true now more than ever with Laurent beneath him. He wanted to run his hands up Laurent’s body, pin his wrists above his head, and kiss him until he found some level of satisfaction or until his lips chaffed. Instead, he kissed Laurent quickly then found his way to his neck. With a soft sigh, Laurent tipped his head back allowing Damen more access.

Without warning, Damen was pressed back by a black combat boot against his chest. He hesitated, the indication seeming to be a warning to stay back.

Laurent lifted an eyebrow, “Well?”

Damen understood with a small laugh and undid the laces before pulling the boots off one after the other. He watched Laurent carefully as his hands rested on the front of the black jeans. After a nod of the blond head, Damen carefully removed his pants and underwear. He took a second to look over the bruises and nearly healed scabs on the left thigh and hip. He had only briefly seen these wounds and was glad to see they were also almost completely healed. The road rash didn’t seem like it would leave much scarring behind if any.

They were both unclothed and Damen bent over Laurent to kiss his hip where he was so pale a circuit of blue veins was visible beneath the skin. Damen couldn’t stop touching Laurent, marveling in the silky skin, almost disbelieving that he was allowed this pleasure. Laurent’s own excitement, expressed vividly, was absurdly gratifying. Damen suddenly wanted to have Laurent in his mouth, to watch him unravel and succumb to the stimulation in salty release.

“I’m not going to reciprocate,” Laurent said pushing up onto one elbow once Damen had positioned himself between Laurent’s legs.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to suck your cock? Because I’m not going to.”

“Okay, and?”

“Just that if your motives are based on reciprocity, that I don’t intend to comply and—”

Once content that Laurent wasn’t objecting Damen took him into his mouth. It was the first sound Laurent had made as his body reformed where Damen held him in his mouth. He went taut, arching off the bed in surprise. Damen held him down with hands on narrow hips, as Laurent fought for control, twitching and shivering. Damen had begun to suspect that Laurent wasn’t as experienced as he once implied, and the innocent reaction seemed to confirm some suspicions.

Other lovers might have tossed their heads from side to side or expressed their satisfaction loudly. Extra attention was needed to sense Laurent’s undoing. The sheets were twisted in his fists, head turned to one side with eyes closed. He had subdued any sound that might escape him and only the quick shuddery breaths and stifled tremors betrayed him.

Damen changed tactics and drew back to just the head, sucking there making the muscles in Laurent’s stomach jump and his breathing change, before he slid his mouth back down taking him fully into his mouth and continued this pattern. Resistance seemed to be growing with the impending orgasm, some battle had been decided without Damen’s knowing and there was no warning when Laurent shut down on the cusp of spilling. He had brought himself back from the brink with an impressive demonstration of will power.

Damen drew away, and rested next to Laurent, “Don’t like to cum?” He watched Laurent’s eyes open and focus on him.

“I— it’s difficult for me to lose control,” Laurent said with painful honesty.

“I can see that.” Damen was only partially aware of his own arousal against the bed, Laurent’s flushed face and slightly watery eyes enough of a distraction.

Laurent had noticed Damen’s problem. “You want to fuck me,” he said.

“I want to take pleasure in your body and satisfy you with mine.” Damen touched a gold strand of hair that had been splayed out on the pillow.

“Make love,” Laurent corrected himself and lifted a knee.

“Yes,” Damen said. “I want to cum inside you and for you to cum in my arms.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“It is.”

“Probably easier for the one on top.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

Laurent closed his eyes, decisively, “I want it to be simple.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Damen said and left a kiss on Laurent’s jaw.

“There’s— in that drawer,” Laurent pointed, and Damen reached to the end table and found a bottle of lube.

Damen pressed with oiled fingers and felt uneasiness roil in Laurent as his body became a single hard line. It was a single finger, but it was already so tight, and Laurent reclaimed his grip on the sheets, knuckles white. 

Damen withdrew, “You’ve done this before, right?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“This,” Damen said using his hand to make his meaning clear.

“Yes,” Laurent said, eyes focused on the ceiling.

“Didn’t you— wasn’t it—”

“Stop talking about it.”

Damen raised up to catch Laurent’s gaze, there was still something tangled in the blue eyes, the earlier anxiety still very present. Laurent seemed unusually vulnerable and young. It was strange to think of him as either and the blush and wide eyes didn’t help. On all accounts Laurent was physically excited, still as aroused as he had been in Damen’s mouth.

“Contrary, aren’t you,” he said thumbing over Laurent’s cheek.

“Just fuck me.”

“I want to,” Damen said, “Are you sure you’re okay with it?”

Laurent pushed Damen back and turned onto his stomach presenting with an arched back, his ass tilted up. Damen nearly fell off the bed.

“Fuck me,” he said again. Helplessly Damen ran a hand along his hip, to the dip in his back and felt Laurent push down the anxiety as goosebumps flared along his spine.

Damen was careful with his lubricated hand, fingers moving back and forth, while he watched Laurent fight whatever emotional turmoil conflicted with the body’s enjoyment. Damen had caressed a hand up Laurent’s inner thigh to between his legs. The trembling had started with the slow strokes as Damen pleasured him to counteract the discomfort of the fingers inside him. Laurent’s head dipped, the blond hair streaming around his face. Damen stretched up, kissing his way along Laurent’s spine to nuzzle the nape of his neck where he could more clearly hear the uneven breathing.

“I need to be inside you,” Damen said, no longer able to deny the throbbing weight between his legs.

“Do it.”

Damen had to take a breath, still disbelieving and heady with the idea that he was going to be allowed this. Slowly, he pushed in, almost hesitantly, suddenly nervous that this might be taken away from him as the tension in Laurent seemed to reach a peak before it was pushed down. He wanted to go slowly and feel every inch and that warred with the desire to be fully inside. Beneath him, Laurent made a soft noise and was pushed to his elbows under Damen’s weight. Every touch was overwhelming as they met and interlocked.

Damen was fully inside and paused, just delighting in the sensation. He was inside Laurent and felt he would burst from the joy and pleasure.

Laurent, with his forehead against the sheets, quietly moaned, “Yes.”

Movement came from necessity, the hot tight press of Laurent around him overpowered his desire to proceed slowly and he found a gentle rhythm. Damen’s hands smoothed up Laurent’s sides, feeling the flesh respond to the slow touch. His mouth was near the nape of Laurent’s neck and he kissed every piece of accessible skin. A shiver went through Laurent when Damen’s hands slid over his chest, brushing the nipples. He went for a second pass to receive a similar reaction. Laurent had sensitive nipples. The knowledge made Damen a little giddy.

He was suddenly overtaken with the need to kiss Laurent and rolled him over. Laurent opened to him, spreading his legs, and they reconnected effortlessly. The kiss was deep and hard, matching pace with Damen’s hips, mouths and skin hot where they touched. Laurent lifted a leg that hooked on Damen’s hip as Damen slipped an arm beneath the hollow of Laurent’s lower back to press them closer together. He wanted Laurent, wanted to feel every inch of his body and hold him as close as possible for as long as possible.

“Laurent,” Damen breathed into the silky skin by Laurent’s ear and he sighed softly in return. Similar to before he was holding himself back, repressing sounds and responses, but inexorably his body was responding and there were signs of an impending climax. Damen’s own orgasm was building, despite wanting to hold out and make this last for as long as he could. It was so good. He wanted it to never end while his body continued towards a conclusion and he could only do his best to bring Laurent with him.

The soft inarticulate noises from Laurent that came with the shallow breathing could only be heard with Damen’s ear near his mouth, but he pulled away to find Laurent’s hand. He had absorbed every sound and movement, and as he took Laurent’s hand, lacing fingers together, the blue eyes opened to find Damen’s and he realized he had been starved for this as well. Laurent’s eyes were dark and heavy-lidded with none of his usual barriers or walls up, the emotion shown there was almost too much, too personal, but Damen didn’t look away.

They gazed at each other as their bodies rocked together with each movement. Damen entirely immersed, found full sweetly sensatory thrusts. He pressed Laurent’s hand into the bed above his blond head and tried to communicate everything he felt in his heart into the kiss. With his other hand he took the most intimate part of Laurent in his grip and felt the slender body react beneath him. Laurent moaned into Damen’s mouth and he nearly lost control right there.

He had known Laurent was close, but the orgasm seemed to surprise both of them, he bowed beneath Damen as a strangled noise left his throat. His muscles tightened around Damen and he cradled Laurent close, lifting him off the bed for the last few desperate thrusts into his body. Laurent’s arms had circled his neck, face in the hollow between Damen’s neck and shoulder. Now hypersensitive, Laurent made a soft noise against Damen’s shoulder his body trembling, and Damen could no longer hold back and came inside while holding Laurent close. He seemed aware of nothing and everything. He could feel Laurent’s heart beating quickly against his own chest and his warm skin but everything else was fuzzy for the blissful seconds of oblivion.

They fell back into the sheets and Damen’s arms shook to keep his full weight off Laurent.

“That was… adequate,” Laurent said his voice not quite normal. Damen breathed a laugh and dropped his head into Laurent’s neck.

“Can you move?” Damen asked.

“…you’re on top of me.”

“Right.” Using his dwindling stamina Damen moved them both. With Laurent on his back and Damen on his side they could fit on the small bed. Except Laurent slipped away to the bathroom. Damen rolled onto his back, filled with ecstasy. He closed his eyes remembering the feel of that first push inside and the sound Laurent had made.

Like before in his apartment Laurent had vacated the bed quickly and when Damen had turned towards the sound of him moving, he was a little disappointed to find Laurent had covered with a shirt. Then Damen realized it was his shirt. It was likely Laurent had chosen it as the quickest and easiest way to cover up, a logical decision, but that made it more endearing.

“What?” Laurent asked as Damen grinned.

“Nothing. Come back to bed.” He reached for Laurent catching the wrist that held a towel. “Is that for me?”

“I— thought you might want to towel off,” Laurent said who had already erased signs of lovemaking from his body. He half resisted Damen’s pull and ended up with a knee on the bed his body stiff with tension from the touch.

“I like that you’re attentive in bed,” Damen said. “It’s not what I expected.”

“We’re not technically in bed,” Laurent said. A slight blush had appeared across his cheeks.

“It’s still within the post-sex area,” Damen said and felt himself grinning almost giddily. Laurent looked at him, a small crease between golden brows.

“I— I don’t have much experience with— ” Laurent made a small gesture with his hand towards Damen and the bed.

“That’s a bit obvious.” Damen released Laurent’s wrist and was handed the small towel that he used to wipe himself off.

“You aren’t what I expected either,” Laurent said after a pause.

“So, you’ve thought about it?” Damen asked pleased by the idea.

“We’ve had other… intimate engagements. I’ve thought about it.” Laurent hadn’t quite drawn away but kept at a distance, awkwardly perched on the side of the bed. “You’re still grinning.”

“I like that you thought about it,” Damen said. He sat up and Laurent reacted to the movement. Laurent met his gaze a little timidly, he was, like always, a tangled mess of overthinking and there was still something complicated in the mix that Damen didn’t know how to interpret. Some of his shields were down and more emotion was visible than was typically allowed to show. Like before Laurent didn’t know how to behave in this new situation and Damen found the hesitancy sweet and charming. He wanted to run his fingers through the blond hair and kiss him tenderly. The tension from just the possibility of a kiss had straightened Laurent’s posture and they both noticed.

“I’m not afraid of sex,” Laurent said.

“Okay,” Damen agreed doing his best not to sound patronizing, “Then what do you want to do?”

The blue eyes were dark, “Don’t touch me,” he said, and Damen understood he was to hold still for this.

Laurent’s hand slid hesitantly over his bicep the pale hand contrasted vividly against Damen’s darker skin. The touch spread upwards, and Laurent’s hands were in his hair and Damen was glad it had been a while since he had cut it, giving Laurent more to comb through. The slender hands were gentle in finding the shape of his skull.

Laurent shifted further onto the bed still in a kneeling position, his bent knee sliding along Damen’s thigh. Their torsos nearly touched, and Damen unthinkingly placed a hand on Laurent’s hip to steady him. It was over the shirt, but Laurent’s awareness shifted sharply to the touch. Damen neither apologized nor removed his hand and Laurent didn’t tell him to. The pale fingers had found their way to the scar on Damen’s shoulder, the one they both knew was one of the last things Auguste had done. It was difficult to look at Laurent as he continuously traced the outlines of the little scar. It was a few moments of the heavy silence before Laurent’s hand traveled down to a scar near his ribs.

“What’s this one from?”

“I was practicing knife fighting with Kastor,” Damen said.

“Your brother did this to you?”

“It wasn’t entirely on purpose.”

“Entirely?” Laurent arched a brow.

“It was his idea to practice with real blades, but we were just boys,” Damen said. The eyebrow stayed raised as Laurent followed the mark across the ribs. His hands continued their journey over the rise and fall of Damen’s chest and briefly stayed to the right of his sternum for the feel of his heartbeat. Damen’s heart wasn’t behaving normally and he wondered if Laurent noticed. Eventually, they wandered down over his abdomen and lower to the inevitable discovery of Damen’s arousal.

“Confident?”

“Not to a purpose.”

“Isn’t it?” Laurent asked. He had unthinkingly positioned himself over Damen’s leg and had begun to shift slightly against his thigh.

“I see I’m not alone,” Damen commented and pulled Laurent just a little closer helping him find friction. Laurent repositioned on his own and surprised Damen with a gentle open-mouthed kiss.

With his body closer, Damen pressed his lips to the slender column of Laurent’s neck and then again when he didn’t object. His breathing had shallowed, the quick rise and fall of his chest visible beneath the shirt. Damen simply nosed along the soft underside of Laurent’s jaw and his head unconsciously tipped to the side and he sighed. Experimentally, Damen kissed Laurent slowly then slower and watched how his breathing changed and pulse stuttered. The fine pale skin that bruised so easily was extra sensitive, and the slower Damen went the more Laurent seemed to come undone. Laurent seemed deprived of any tenderness and Damen wanted to lavish it on him, to slowly kiss every inch of skin to make up for any neglect.

“That— feels good,” Laurent said with a sigh. He had closed his eyes and was moving mindlessly seeking out pleasure. Damen could feel his pulse beneath his lips and realized, with surprise, that Laurent was close. He brought his other hand up under the shirt onto the bare to hip to just feel the movement as Laurent moved to a slow rhythm. It was the first time Laurent had untangled enough to enjoy himself apart from the climax. Damen was partly astounded he could come just from kissing. 

With his hand wrapped around Laurent’s hip it reminded him of when they had danced together. His thumb slowly caressed the crest of his hip bone and he received a faint moan from Laurent’s parted lips. Remembering his recent discovery, Damen made the caress slower and timed it to the gentle kisses to the neck. Laurent’s head was turned to one side, eyes closed, and expression distressed as helpless sounds were pulled from him.

Laurent changed pace right at the end, pressing almost desperately against Damen while gripping his shoulders. Like last time the orgasm seemed to surprise him, and Damen held him as he shuddered, a choked noise escaping him. He felt the wet stripe against his bare abdomen as hot as blood.

“Adequate,” Damen said smiling and brushed hair from Laurent’s face. Laurent breathed a humorless laugh and separated from him rolling limply to the edge of the bed.

“The shirt is clean,” Damen said after using the towel again to clean himself off more so than Laurent.

“Here.” Laurent curled his legs under himself and pushed up to a half-reclined position in order to wrap a hand around Damen’s erection. Damen himself had nearly forgotten about it, caught up in watching Laurent. The attention from the tired hand lacked its original finesse, but it wasn’t necessary. Damen had become astonishingly close just from the feel of Laurent moving against him and finished quickly.

Laurent languidly made to leave the bed until Damen stopped him. “You can stay here.”

“It’s a small bed,” Laurent said already sounding half asleep.

“We fit in the back of a truck. I missed you last night,” Damen said and moved to kiss Laurent’s cheek.

“Well, I’m already here,” Laurent said and rolled onto his side facing Damen and rested a hand on his arm before he fell asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Damen watched Laurent move against him in his sleep, feeling every small shift and sigh with the younger man in his arms. He lifted a hand to brush aside a few strands of blond hair from Laurent’s face and his eyelashes fluttered. Slowly Laurent came awake, with a small stretch and soft noise before opening his eyes.

“Good morning,” Damen said as the blue eyes met his.

“Good morning,” Laurent said and smiled shyly, Damen felt himself smiling foolishly in response but couldn’t stop.

“I told you we’d fit,” Damen said, joyously running his fingers through the blond hair. Laurent closed his eyes briefly, seeming to enjoy the feeling.

“Only because I’m half on top of you.” Laurent inhaled deeply as he stretched and arched. It was a flex, testing a feeling in his body. A small crease appeared between his eyebrows.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” Damen asked, “I tried not to— I mean I wouldn’t—”

“No. No, I’m fine. I can just still feel the— _sensation_. I like the way it feels.”

“Enough to do it again?”

“Right now?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Damen was still grinning, “But I meant in general.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t say no to either,” Laurent said coyly. Helplessly Damen pulled him closer and found Laurent’s mouth for a soft kiss. Laurent’s hand smoothed along Damen’s chest then over his shoulder and bicep. There was more reverence in Laurent’s touch, a contrast to the solemn concentration from last night. The veneration from Laurent was baffling.

“What?” Damen asked.

“Nothing, I’m just— I’m glad you’re here,” Laurent said and smiled. It was so sweetly genuine, and unexpected coming from Laurent, that Damen was completely charmed. There was a simple and unguarded quality leftover from sleep that made Laurent's beauty breathtaking.

Damen let him know as much, and almost desperately pulled Laurent in for a deeper kiss. Laurent responded with a little sound of pleasure and Damen moved to be on top as Laurent hooked his arms around Damen’s neck pulling him down. Kissing became a slow movement, rocking together slow and sensual. The feeling of Laurent growing excited against him was exhilarating.

“I don’t know when Aimeric is coming back,” Laurent said breathlessly.

“So, go put a sock on the door,” Damen replied with his face in Laurent’s neck.

“You’ll have to let me up,” Laurent said with eyes closed, lips parting from the slow attention of Damen’s mouth down his throat.

“Only if you promise to come right back.” Damen’s voice was thick, and he was also fully erect, ready and needy. Laurent slipped away to perform his task and Damen watched him, the large shirt allowing demure peaks where thighs met rounded backside. Damen pulled Laurent back in as soon he was in reach and the shirt came off.

“This time,” Laurent said throwing a leg over Damen and straddling his hips, “I’m on top.”

-

“Incredible,” Damen whispered and kissed Laurent’s slightly damp forehead.

“Thank you,” Laurent said sounding drowsy and Damen chuckled.

“Think we could both fit in the shower?”

“If you’re implying we go another round I’m going to need a little time to recover.”

“I’m just very into water conservation,” Damen said pleased that Laurent wasn’t opposed to going again.

“Oh? Did you decide this just now?”

“Perhaps,” Damen said with a grin. He got Laurent up off the bed his body languid from the sleepy shroud of after sex. The hesitancy and anxiety from their previous times dissipated in the warm water. Slippery bodies were pressed together thoroughly with even Laurent’s ankles and feet against Damen’s as he stood on tiptoe to reach his mouth. Laurent’s hands wandered over Damen in a drowsy confidence that he had not yet exhibited and went places they had not yet explored. It was difficult for Damen to keep his footing, practically out of his mind with elation from Laurent’s touch. Damen was also a little braver with his hands, following the flow of Laurent’s back and then lower to familiarize himself with the curves there. A moan came from Laurent’s throat as Damen continued to explore the area where the legs connected to the rest of the body. Soap was added to the mix and the hands moved easier as Damen took delight in washing Laurent, turning him, belly to the wall, to gently scrub shampoo into the blond hair.

Laurent had made his recovery and it was impossible to ignore the little movements of his hips seeking friction. Damen closed the distance between them and took Laurent in hand, his own arousal against the curve of Laurent’s lower back. The blond head fell back against his chest, body a pale arch with Damen’s free hand running slowly up from his hip to the curve of the waist. Laurent’s breathing changed and Damen turned him again, pressing his back to the wall and capturing his mouth. Damen hadn’t been able to grow this close to an orgasm from just bodies pressed together since he was a teenager, but this was Laurent, and everything was different. He took both of them together in his grip and Laurent’s hand circled his, assisting the motion and coverage. Damen tipped Laurent’s chin up for a kiss sliding fingers along his jaw and down his neck. His thumb circled a pink nipple and Laurent sagged slightly, legs nearly giving out as a sound escaped him and he came. Damen caught him, an arm around his waist, Laurent held on to Damen’s shoulders, face in his chest as he shuddered. With Laurent climaxing in his arms Damen found it easy to follow suit. A little more soap was added between them, and their bodies stayed sweetly pressed together. Laurent ended the session by reaching around Damen to turn the shower off.

“Water conservation,” he said.

Damen was reluctant to part from him and held him close for the final kisses. Once freed Laurent became practical in drying himself off, dressing, and combing his hair without self-consciousness or performance despite Damen's eyes following him. He took the sheets and some of their clothes down the hall to the laundry room and came back to begin work with his recently recovered computer. Damen had noted, without comment, that Laurent was wearing another one of his shirts along with Aimeric’s heavy knit school cardigan, also a bit oversized. Typically, Laurent wore his sweaters with shirt fully buttoned beneath, Damen didn’t think he even owned a t-shirt and liked seeing him in the more relaxed and comfortable clothing.

Food was becoming a primary thought; they had woken earlier than usual, and hunger had crept up on him in the last half hour. Damen was about to mention something to Laurent about getting breakfast when Aimeric returned. Similar to the day before, he had a cup carrier of coffee as well as a bag of breakfast sandwiches. Aimeric stepped into the room and glanced around, he looked at the bed where the blankets had been restored, and then to Laurent. Damen didn’t notice any changes in Laurent but Aimeric apparently saw something.

“It’s about time,” he said, setting breakfast on the desk.

The day passed like a lazy Sunday. Damen played games while Laurent and Aimeric laid out Aimeric’s clothes and Laurent attempted to make him part with some of the colder weather outfits. He got a dark bomber jacket with fleece lining and lapels, as well as a black heavy parka that took some persuasion before Aimeric voluntarily parted with the coat. He more willingly surrendered other items that he had grown out of, and those were also added to the duffle of clothes.

As the afternoon progressed to evening Aimeric started his homework, sprawled on top of the clothes that were still scattered on his bed, and occasionally asked Laurent for an answer to one of the problems. Damen sat with Laurent as he took apart the computer after saying it was behaving strangely and needed an internal diagnostic check. He would talk a little about certain pieces, sharing with Damen information about what it did and its relationship to other parts. It was a comfortable intimacy with his thigh resting lightly against Laurent’s. The little touches still felt illicit and the potency hadn’t lessened from their time together but seemed to increase. He wasn't satisfied from their few hours together. If anything he wanted Laurent more, wanted to hold him and above all else see the smile that had fleetingly changed the light in the blue eyes. The purity and beauty of that smile had made Damen’s heart hurt and the ache still lingered. It had been a momentary experience more intimate than lovemaking because, very briefly, Laurent had let him in, and Damen thought he would give anything to see Laurent happy like that again.

Aimeric disrupted the comfortable silence by slamming the heavy textbook closed, “Are we going to the cafeteria for dinner together or am I still being your delivery boy?”

“Bring back whatever’s easiest,” Laurent said dismissively, attention on his current task.

“Sure,” Aimeric said grumpily, “Don’t lock me out.” He shrugged into his coat and left them alone. Damen didn’t have any expectations about their brief time alone together and stood to stretch as he considered going to the gym before dinner. Then Laurent’s phone began to ring, and all of their plans changed.

Laurent’s face paled after listening to the muffled voice on the other end, “We have to leave,” Laurent said blankly and then looked with horror at the spread of computer parts on the floor. Damen went to the window to see red and blue lights emanating from a mob of police cars in a distant parking lot. From growing up in a mob, this wasn’t the first time Damen had experienced a situation like this and began to move. Laurent was on his knees scraping the guts of his computer onto a discarded t-shirt. Damen slung the duffle and backpack with their supplies over his shoulder then took Laurent by the elbow, pulling him unwillingly to his feet. Laurent clutched the shirt of computer parts to him desperately and pulled against Damen’s grip, hesitating, reluctant to leave the remainders of the computer. Damen tugged harder, and this time Laurent relented and left some of the parts on the floor as well as the monitor and keyboard.

They were stopped at the back exit. A gun was thrust in Damen’s face and a cop demanded they show their hands. Laurent seemed ready to take a bullet before he would drop the shirt of computer parts. The cop was obviously a rookie, the pistol was too close and with a practiced maneuver, Damen took the gun. The cop stumbled backward with the barrel now aimed at him. After a glance around, Damen saw there weren’t any other police officers in sight, this one seeming to have rushed ahead without backup.

“Laurent, go,” he ordered, but Laurent hesitated and seemed to be thinking, stuck in his head, and not acting. Damen glanced back down the hall to see more officers turning the corner and heading in their direction, Laurent had noticed too but was still trying to solve the problems with his brain instead of reacting. Damen turned the young cop and with the butt of the gun struck him on the back of his skull knocking him out.

“Come on,” he took Laurent by the arm and pulled him towards the heavy curtain of foliage where the forest began. After releasing his arm Damen kept an eye on Laurent as they broke into the woods. It was an inconvenience to have him treating the situation like a logic puzzle but once Laurent had made an assessment or calculated what he needed to Damen trusted there would be a plan.

They trudged deep enough in that they wouldn’t be seen from anyone glancing in their direction and began to hike around the circumference towards the parking lot where they had left the junky Toyota.

“Wait,” Laurent said and tied the shirt closed to avoid losing any of his computer pieces. “Let me make a call and find out what’s happening.”

“Who called you with the warning?” Damen asked.

“Aimeric. I’m going to call Jord, the officer I know.” It took several calls and redials before there was an answer. In the still cold air sound carried easily, if it came to a chase through the woods the low visibility of the surrounding twilight would be their only advantage. It was far enough into autumn that there were more leaves on the ground than clinging to branches.

“Laurent,” the voice through the phone was distant, “Where are you?”

“We got out in time,” Laurent said.

“Good,” Jord sighed in relief. “I didn’t know what was happening until a few minutes ago.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this—”

“Just tell me,” Laurent said.

“You’re being charged with murder.”

“Whose?”

There was a long hesitation, where Jord took a deep breath, “Look, I don’t know many details yet—”

“Whose?”

“Nicaise.”

Laurent stopped walking and Damen turned back towards him. The blood had drained from his face. For a moment he didn’t even breathe. Now would not be a good time for him to go into shock. Knowing how it would affect him, Damen lightly rested a hand on his shoulder. It was enough to startle Laurent into action, he pulled away from Damen’s touch and inhaled sharply.

“Is there proof?” Laurent asked into the phone.

“There’s a body. It fits Nicaise’s description and your uncle identified it,” Jord said.

“How— how did he die?”

“Strangulation. Looked like he was beaten pretty badly too. They also— there was also a rape kit done—”

“Don’t.” Laurent closed his eyes, “I— not now. Send me the report. What else do I need to know?”

“Laurent.” Damen made a gesture that they should keep walking. Laurent looked up and unsteadily began to follow.

“They found the house you’ve been staying at so don’t go back there. The only good news is that I have your motorcycle, but everything else is in evidence.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said with an exhale, “Do they know about the car we’ve been driving?”

“No, I don’t think so. I have to go. Message me later about getting your bike,” Jord said and the call disconnected.

Laurent stumbled and stopped walking, bending with his hands on his knees. He shuddered; a tremor that made him unsteady. Gingerly Damen took the knotted shirt of computer parts from his hand and put it into the duffle.

“I just— need a minute,” Laurent said.

“I know,” Damen said softly, “But not right now. Compartmentalize so we can get somewhere safe.”

“I can’t— I can’t think,” Laurent said.

“Then just trust me,” Damen held out his hand and Laurent stared at it before he hesitantly reached out and accepted. Damen led him through the forest and didn’t look back, it was the only way he could offer him privacy. Even when he heard Laurent try to temper his breathing from fast and shallow, sounding on the verge of an anxiety attack, to deeper breaths Damen let him be. He kept his grip tight in what he hoped conveyed reassurance.

The sun had set when they finished the hike to the visitor’s parking lot where their car waited out of sight. The red and blue lights from the police cruisers were on the opposite side of the lot, the Northside, while their car was on the West. Not ideal positioning, but it was feasible they could reach it and get out if there weren’t any police blockades on the escape route.

A commotion snagged their attention only a few dozen feet away from where they crouched in the gloom of the forest. Damen didn’t recognize the man right away, the last time he had seen him in person was weeks ago and under equally poor lighting. If he hadn’t seen the security footage of a similar situation, he probably wouldn’t have identified Govart at all. It was almost a déjà vu moment, as Govart forced Aimeric across the lot towards a silver Dodge. Aimeric fought back but wasn’t a match for the bigger man. He had been hit, blood was smeared across his face, a blatant crimson in the yellow streetlights.

“No,” Laurent said softly.

Damen caught him as he began to move forward. “You’ll only get yourself caught.”

Laurent struggled almost mindlessly; his teeth ground together sharply. Fortunately, Aimeric wasn’t thrown in the trunk, but the back seat where another large man was waiting to keep him trapped in the vehicle as they drove out of sight.

If Govart was able to leave unchecked, then maybe there wasn’t a blockade waiting to stop them. It was unlikely that the rookie cop was still unconscious and could identify Damen, but they were looking for Laurent, not him.

“Come on.” Damen pulled Laurent up from his knees and started walking again, still leading Laurent by the hand. He walked them to the campus entrance and then West, traveling parallel to the main road. It wasn’t an easy journey; the forest was thick and not easy to maneuver through in the dark. There was no way to judge the distance, but it felt like more than a mile. The journey seemed to be a little rough on Laurent who hadn’t recovered enough for a vigorous hike, but Damen didn’t slow his pace thinking it was probably a good way to take Laurent’s mind off other things.

Damen removed the bag with Laurent’s belongings from his back and placed it over the smaller set of shoulders. “I’m going to go back and get the car, I’ll pick you up here,” he said. Laurent nodded but didn’t immediately let go of his hand. Damen hesitated, he really didn’t want to leave Laurent alone in the middle of a dark forest but made himself turn and jog back the way they had come.

Night had fully descended when Damen reached their previous spot and surveyed the parking lot where the Toyota sat. The idea was to make it look like he was not emerging from the woods. He backtracked a little and made it to the side of one of the stone buildings staying along the edge until the row of cars was in sight. Then as casually as possible he crossed the open space of grass towards the parking lot. Avoiding the street lights was impossible so he could only be glad Laurent and his reflective hair wasn't with him to give away their position. Damen stood out mainly as a large dark figure, which was not exactly a positive with law enforcement nearby. His heart could surely be heard by anyone nearby, but he made it to the first row unscathed and began down the line towards the tan Camry. Only a few yards away from his goal a flashlight beam swept over him, reflexively he raised a hand to shield his eyes. On the other end of the flashlight was a police officer. Damen froze as his pulse quickened, he judged the distance between them and whether he could reach the officer before he could draw his gun. The cop looked him over and then the light lowered, and the officer strangely, deliberately, turned away. Not going to question this, Damen jogged the last bit to the car and started it quickly. He had to remind himself to not rush and attract attention by peeling out, the headlights stayed off until he reached the main road. It was an estimation where he had left Laurent and went slowly looking for evidence of a blond head. Laurent revealed himself several yards down the road and dropped into the passenger seat once Damen had pulled up next to him.

“I can’t believe there isn’t a blockade or police dogs,” Damen commented. “A cop looked at me and let me go.”

“I have some friends on the force other than Jord. It could have been Orlant or Huet, but we won’t get this lucky again,” Laurent said without inflection.

“Where are we going?” Damen asked.

“I don’t know,” Laurent said quietly.

Damen turned towards him, “You always have a plan.”

“Not right now I don’t.” Laurent was turned away, Damen couldn’t see his face, but he had curled up in the seat with arms around his stomach. He was still in his head, locked away in whatever turmoil his overthinking brain was putting him through. Knowing Laurent would have preferred to be alone Damen didn’t speak and without a destination in mind he drove them out of town.

-

Following Laurent’s example, Damen stopped at an empty campsite, abandoned from the cold temperature. Despite not currently knowing what to do, Laurent had prepared the car for an emergency. There was a sleeping bag in the back seat as well as some snacks and water. Damen ate one of the energy bars but couldn’t convince Laurent to eat anything. He was so deeply embedded in his head and thoughts that he was nearly catatonic. He was closed off, arms crossed and turned away from Damen.

“Take this,” Damen said, unfolding the sleeping bag to cover Laurent who resisted reflexively.

The dark blue eyes turned towards him blankly, “Why?”

“Because you’re shaking,” Damen said.

Laurent looked down at himself and seemed surprised by the trembling, “I don’t think it’s because I’m cold.”

“I know, I’m worried you’re going into shock.”

“I— no, I’m…”

“You’re not fine, if that’s what you’re going to say,” Damen said.

“I don’t know what to do,” Laurent said quietly, vacant gaze directed out the window.

“Concentrate on right now,” Damen suggested.

“How?”

“Maybe—” Damen reached over tapping a tightly closed fist, the knuckles white, “Trying to relax.”

“I can’t,” the words were strangled, “I want to break something.”

Damen had misunderstood. It was rage that was shaking Laurent. The past hours reshaped in his mind and he remembered the destroyed drywall and mirror in the house. Damen had also supplied the car and got out to pop the trunk. Most of his weapons had been in the house and were now in police custody, but there were some things in the car. Laurent had lost more than him, now only owning random computer parts, the tablet, and whatever devices were in his duffle.

“Here,” Damen said and held out the axe to Laurent once he had also exited the vehicle. He watched as the pale hands unclenched, the nails leaving dark crescents in the palm.

“What am I doing with this?” Laurent asked looking down at the axe now in his hands.

Damen spread his arms, “You’re in the forest, what would someone do with an axe?”

“Commit murder,” Laurent said.

“I suppose you could do that,” Damen agreed and recognized that his amygdala reminded him of the rookie cop’s gun stored at the small of his back. “Or you could use it for its intended purpose.”

Laurent looked down at the axe, this time with more interest, he reassessed the weight and adjusted his grip. Without a word or glance at Damen he turned and went into the forest.

-

Nearly an hour had passed with Laurent gone, not even the blond head could be seen in the low visibility of the forest. If Damen hadn’t been able to hear the sounds of aggression being taken out on the foliage he might have started to worry. With the time alone Damen used the dim cab light to assess the weapons that he had stored in the Toyota. His thoughts and emotions were a mess, his heart hurt for Laurent and was unsure how to comfort him. He was upset about the house and no longer having a safe place to go, it seemed impossible to even imagine the two of them living out of the Toyota. The changing weather would only add to the difficulty, with the current temperature barely above freezing. The fact that Laurent had spent the summer in similar or worse conditions didn’t matter, he deserved better, and Damen was frustrated he couldn’t give that to him. If nothing else, he could offer protection, and essentially it was what he wanted, to protect Laurent.

Damen sat in the passenger seat of the car, his legs to the side and one foot on the ground with the other crossed as he used the cab light to clean one of the guns. On the dashboard, Laurent’s phone vibrated. Damen had seen Laurent enter the passcode enough times that he got it right on the third try. The message was from “Lt. J” asking what to do with the bike. He took a moment to listen for the sounds of the axe then called the lieutenant. After an explanation, and assuring Jord that Laurent was okay, he gave instructions on what to do with the motorcycle. It still needed some repairs and if Jord took it to the address Damen would text him and gave the mechanic Damen’s name it could be done within a day.

“How is he?” Jord asked.

“Not great,” Damen said and admitting it out loud overwhelmed him and he felt the ache in every vein.

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Jord said ending the conversation.

Damen tucked the phone away and looked down at his hands, flexing them in and out of fists. The Akielons, his friends, were being threatened by the same man who would kill a child to dissuade a teenager from working against him. This was more than a reward for returning a runaway kid. Now Laurent would not only have to dodge the Veretians and opportunistic Akielons, but also law enforcement and any citizens who happened to recognize him. He would have to leave the city and Damen would have to decide between going with Laurent or staying to help the Akielons. He had thought that if they stayed in the city, he could do both, helping Laurent would, in turn, help the Akielons. There had to be a motive behind forcing Laurent, and Damen by association, out of town. Thus, reason to be worried about his friends, maybe more reason than to be worried about Laurent.

“Speak of the devil,” Damen said to himself as Laurent returned. His face was flushed from exertion and Aimeric’s cardigan wrapped around his waist. The moonlight illuminated his hair and skin in a white glow, he looked ethereal emerging from the dark forest. Damen instinctually wanted to reach out to him, but Laurent’s posture was stiff, and while he seemed to have exhausted himself physically it had done little to soothe the turmoil behind the blue eyes. No words were spoken as Laurent found a bottle of water and Damen reassembled the guns he had taken apart to clean and oil. His head hurt from the stress of the day and he wanted to sleep. More specifically he wanted to sleep in a bed with Laurent next to him, if not in his arms, desiring physical comfort.

Damen had stood to stretch his legs and now leaned against the car using an old cloth to wipe down the barrel of another dismantled gun. He wondered if Laurent still had the Beretta but suppressed the desire to initiate a conversation. Laurent also reclined against the car, less stiff than Damen, but he crossed his arms and ankles a guarded posture. There were a few moments of silence and Damen felt every second, his heartbeat keeping time. Laurent redressed with the cardigan and Damen reassembled the gun with sharp clicks before tucking it into a pocket of his leather jacket.

“I think you might be right about the ‘shock’,” Laurent held up a pale hand to show he was still trembling, “I— can’t seem to stop.”

Damen pushed off the car to move closer and Laurent reacted to the proximity the same way he had to the tension of an impending kiss. He felt Laurent’s rapid pulse when he took the smaller hand turning it over, ignoring the busted and scabbed knuckles. The palms were red from the axe, a blister forming beneath his index finger and another near his thumb.

“My delicate princess skin is a nuisance,” Laurent said.

Damen laughed quietly before he kissed the warm palm and Laurent blushed. He was once again caught by surprise from the tenderness and Damen’s attempt at comforting him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Damen asked.

“My skin? No, I think I’ve summarized that accurately.”

“Laurent.”

Laurent took his hand back, “Talk about what? That my uncle may have killed a twelve-year-old? That Aimeric is likely to be tortured, if not worse because colluding with me could be seen as traitorous? That I don’t have a functioning computer? That I— we lost whatever was at the house?”

“Do you think he would really kill Nicaise?”

“Not by his own hands, but at one point I didn’t think he would try to kill me.” Laurent folded his arms again and didn’t look at Damen, “To answer, yes, I— I suspect it’s true.” His voice carried a vulnerability, just on the edge of cracking with emotion that was too great to be held in. When Damen reached out to him his hand was knocked away in a solely instinctual movement, in a moment of stress and emotion the reaction had been visceral. Damen stepped back feeling useless and then guilty for being hurt that Laurent’s instinct had been to reject him.

“I need more time,” Laurent said breathlessly and retreated to a bench at the edge of the forest. Briefly, Damen watched Laurent as he cradled his head in his hands. Unwittingly, Damen sought movement and spent an unknown time pacing on the other side of the Toyota. He had been exhausted before, but once he had reached the point where he thought he could sleep in the backseat Damen started the car to warm the interior before settling in for the night. Laurent could still be seen at the edge of the forest, the blond head still lowered.

‘_I can’t think_.’

Damen wished he couldn’t think.

It seemed liked hours in the uncomfortable seat waiting for his brain to let him rest. He was half stretched out on his back one leg bent against the backrest the other awkwardly curled in the footwell. The small cab was not accommodating to his large frame. He had just drifted off when he was woken by Laurent climbing into the back seat with him. Damen stiffened with surprise when Laurent curled up on top of him.

“What’s wrong?” Laurent asked.

“Nothing,” Damen said relaxing beneath Laurent’s weight, “I just didn’t expect—”

“I didn’t think it would be productive to repeat the conversation on sharing body heat. We’ve shared greater intimacies why should I become shy now?”

Damen felt Laurent waver after he pulled the sleeping bag over both of them and then draped an arm across his lower back, “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Laurent said and closed his eyes. With effort, he held himself still as Damen cupped his face, fingers in the blond hair. “It’s just hard for me to— I’m not used to— accepting _comfort_.”

“I was a little hurt,” Damen admitted ruefully.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been offered any type of solace without an ulterior motive.”

“You have a cryptic way of speaking,” Damen told him still stroking his hair. Unthinkingly Laurent leaned into the touch with eyes closed, the exhaustion warring with the restless mind. The blond head dropped to rest on Damen’s chest followed by a deep sigh.

“It is kind of nice,” Laurent said sleepily still allowing himself to be petted. Damen realized Laurent was listening to his heartbeat.

“What is?” Damen asked softly.

“I haven’t lost everything.”

Instantly Damen experienced elation and anguish simultaneously, his earlier thoughts returning to him wondering how he could help the Akielons and stay with Laurent. Was he going to have to make a choice between his friends and Laurent? Laurent had referred to it as the kingdom Damen had inherited from his father. Would he now have to sacrifice one for the other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reply to a comment several chapters back where I said I was about halfway done with this story but I've been changing and replanning some elements of the plot, so it turns out this story will be longer than I originally predicted.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bonus flashback chapter with a small trigger warning, nothing explicit, but the uncle is in this and he's creepy.

“Fuck.”

Based on the look in the familiar crystal blue eyes, it was a mutual feeling.

Aimeric had trekked up two sets of stairs with luggage in tow and had finally found his assigned room for the semester along with the new roommate. The blond head had turned with his entry and then those blue eyes fixed on him disapproving. For a moment Aimeric was stuck in the doorway.

“Seriously?” he groaned and shoved past Laurent to drop his belongings on the unclaimed bed. He unconsciously stood a little straighter, Laurent’s graceful posture influencing him seemingly by osmosis, but as soon as Aimeric realized what he’d done he slumped down on the bed. “It’s not a mistake,” he said and handed over the paperwork, anticipating what Laurent would ask.

Laurent shook his head in disgust, “This was planned,” he returned the paper with a snap.

“Why?” Aimeric asked and pulled out his phone to see if any of his friends had gotten to campus yet and he’d have an excuse to escape.

“I suppose so you can report on my doings and perhaps my presence might dissuade you from taking the entire student body to bed,” Laurent said condescending.

Aimeric scoffed, “Right, because I give a shit about what you do.” He watched Laurent quietly unpack his belongings. It was akin to watching a disinterested predator, Aimeric felt like a threatened house cat with a panther, elegant and intimidating, in his territory. “The latter half won’t work either, I can get laid just from association with you, being your roommate is only going to increase my chances,” Aimeric said, unable to resist poking the beast. Laurent had stiffened but stayed turned away. There was an adrenaline rush that came with taunting the beast. “I could probably get anyone I want with the promise to do it on your bed.”

Aimeric felt a satisfying thrill as Laurent’s sharp expression snapped towards him. “I’ll cripple you.”

“Spoken like a true mob kid.” Aimeric grinned as Laurent turned away covering his ears with headphones. Point one in the pissing war went to Aimeric.

-

Testing boundaries came with settling in, it may have been easier to put tape down and segregate their separate spaces. Aimeric was really only in the room for his bed and it seemed Laurent never left. He was like a cat with three favorite spots: at the desk, on his bed, or the floor where he surrounded himself with gadgets that looked like computer or robot innards. Unfortunately, Aimeric had lacrosse practice the same time Laurent was in the stables for his equestrian obligations and there was almost never a chance to have the room to himself. Intentionally or not Laurent was succeeding in cockblocking him and Aimeric retaliated. He wasn’t an especially messy person, but it didn’t take much effort to go from mildly unkempt to absolute slob. Aimeric’s side of the room being a disaster only seemed to vaguely irk Laurent. The bathroom was the breaking point.

Aimeric had been considering cutting his hair. One of the few things the school was lenient on, regarding appearance, was hair length as long as it was kept neat. Like some of the other freshmen, he had let it grow and found the frustrating curls turned to manageable waves with extra length. Spending his summer at the beach had allowed him to embrace his new surfer look and he had a full year of hair growth. Now though, he had to tie up his hair every evening for Lacrosse and something about the ponytail invited the other boys to give it a tug. The first time it had been a larger senior and Aimeric had let it go until a fellow sophomore had attempted it and the resulting fight had the coach threatening to bench him. He had been benched most of last year and had made it through freshmen hazing, making him very reluctant to give up his new starter spot. So, he either had to put up with his ponytail being pulled or get a haircut. He had been on the verge of going with the latter when he discovered he could leave hairballs in the sink and shower.

Laurent’s tolerance for the mess was stronger than Aimeric had expected and it was beginning to annoy even him. That should have been a clue that there was an impending retaliation.

“Where is my jacket?” Aimeric ripped the headphones off the blond head. He was on the floor again, a mini screwdriver in one hand and bizarre mechanical piece in the other.

“Which one?” Laurent looked up, not attempting to look innocent despite his lilted tone.

“Bitch, the Balenciaga.”

“Did you want that? I couldn’t tell since it was always on the floor,” Laurent’s tone made Aimeric turn to reexamine his side of the room. It was cleaner than how he had left it with only pieces of his school uniform left.

“All of my clothes?” Briefly, Aimeric was more horrified than angry.

“Just the ones on the floor minus your uniform since I’d rather not see you naked.”

Aimeric took Laurent by the collar and jerked him from a seated position to his knees. “My brother gave me that jacket.”

There was a small flicker in Laurent’s eyes, but then his expression hardened. Having grown up with him, Aimeric had seen the look before and knew what it meant. His fist moved almost without thought. Laurent was knocked back and barely took time to recover before he foot swept Aimeric. He was used to being knocked over in lacrosse but hitting the hardwood floor stung. Laurent was getting to his feet until Aimeric caught him by the ankle. He struck the floor with a slightly softer thump. Aimeric attempted to climb on top and pin him but Laurent had a leg between them and kicked Aimeric back hard enough that he hit the desk. Laurent was distracted by his computer monitor wobbling and nearly tipping over, and Aimeric tackled him. The blond head bounced off the hardwood and Laurent ground his teeth after the impact but had the foresight to block Aimeric’s incoming punch. Laurent swung blindly and caught Aimeric in the jaw before he took a hard hit to the mouth.

Neither of them noticed when the door opened as the RA and downstairs neighbors rushed in to separate them. Laurent received most of the attention with his pretty mouth bleeding, even though Aimeric would have more bruises in the morning.

Turned out there had been a betting pool for how long it would take them to come to blows and their neighbors had been instructed to pay attention, not just to know who had won the bet but also to prevent murder.

They were given a brief lecture about fighting from the senior RA and were informed that this was strike one and three strikes would result in a punishment from the school board which could be as severe as expulsion.

When they were left alone Laurent said, “I can get the jacket back if you clean the bathroom.”

“How about you get all of my clothes back and I don’t break your perfect nose.”

“If you clean the bathroom and we set boundaries I’ll get the jacket.” Laurent wasn’t as threatening with an ice pack to his mouth, but the blue eyes were still sharp.

“That isn’t how you negotiate,” Aimeric said.

“Alright, if you break my nose you get nothing. Agree to my terms now and I’ll return everything. If you negotiate further, it will only be the jacket.”

Aimeric sat on his bed glaring at Laurent, “What are your ‘boundaries’?”

“You will clean the bathroom by tomorrow evening, I’ll clean it next weekend, and we will continue on this schedule. If you insist on living in squalor keep it strictly on your side. Anything that appears on mine is gone.”

Aimeric glanced at his side of the room. It wasn't difficult to agree to the terms, he was also tired of the mess. “How about I’ll keep my side clean if you agree to leave the room for a few hours on the weekend when I ask you to.”

Laurent side-eyed him and said, “Nothing happens on my bed.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

-

“Seriously, you two couldn’t wait one day?”

Aimeric couldn’t remember the name of the RA as he sat across the aisle in the emergency room and lectured them. Laurent next to him took up most of his vision as Aimeric pressed the towel to his forehead to keep the blood out of his eyes. The half of Laurent he could see was already beginning to bruise and swell, but his posture reminded Aimeric of a meerkat, alert and anxious.

“What is wrong with you?” Aimeric asked quietly. Laurent turned the one good eye towards him, and it was still the sharp eye of a predator despite the nervous exterior. The disparaging look was apparently meant to be an answer.

The RA was still talking, “I don’t know how you got paired together but I’m going to try to change that. Everyone is tired of the constant arguing and now _this_.” He gestured broadly to both of them. “It’s 2 a.m., only a few hours before fall break. What were you even fighting about?”

“Nothing.” Aimeric turned his head so he wouldn’t have to see the blond head next to him. Technically Laurent had started this fight but Aimeric had begun the argument and had driven it to the tipping point. Laurent had been irritatingly calm, and Aimeric, wanting to push him over the edge, had made an unpleasant comment about Auguste. He hadn’t even meant it, and almost immediately regretted saying it, until the little computer hard drive was thrown at his head. Aimeric hadn’t been able to see with the blood pouring into his eyes but he knew where he had last seen Laurent and knocked him out of the chair. Laurent’s face had struck the side of the desk as he fell. Now Aimeric was getting stitches and Laurent was getting an X-ray. Neither of them was especially remorseful. 

Aimeric didn’t need as many stitches as expected and Laurent’s face wasn’t broken, with no chance he would be permanently disfigured. Unfortunately.

The RA, seemed to be less tense with the positive diagnosis for the two of them. Then Guion showed up as they were about to leave. Aimeric wasn’t expecting them to both be pulled aside and lectured. He had thought his dad was only there for him.

The large hand, heavy with rings, backhanded Aimeric and then Laurent on the bad side of his face, “He is disappointed with both of you.” That was all Guion said before leaving. Aimeric exchanged a glance with Laurent finding a similar hard and defiant expression and wondered if the sense of comradery he felt was pain killers. Laurent tilted his head with a lifted brow redirecting Aimeric’s gaze to the RA. Based on the shocked expression he had seen everything.

“I’m— going to let you guys off with a warning,” the RA said after an awkwardly quiet car ride back to the dorm.

Aimeric climbed into bed and watched Laurent gingerly do the same, “I didn’t mean what I said about Auguste. I liked him.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t want to talk about it,” Laurent said and turned away from him.

-

Laurent returned from fall break with a blue cast on his right arm. His face was still bruised from their fight last week, but the swelling was gone no longer disfiguring him.

“I— fell,” Laurent said with a sigh, giving up on the lie after the first word.

“Right,” Aimeric said, unlocking the door for Laurent who had been struggling to handle his luggage and the key. “You’d better work on that story for anyone else who’s going to ask.”

“No one is going to ask,” Laurent said, fighting to hold his bags with just the one arm. After a moment of indecision Aimeric reached out to help him and Laurent seemed startled when his bag was taken from him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Have you ever noticed that your manners come and go?” Aimeric asked.

“Only around you.”

“Don’t forget I grew up with you, you’re just a mild-mannered bookworm going through a weird form of hormone-fueled teenage rebellion.”

“Is that what’s happening? I thought I was losing my mind,” Laurent said dryly.

Aimeric laughed, half surprised that Laurent had made a joke, “You get used to it.”

“I’m older, shouldn’t I be the one consoling you?”

“I’d allow it if you looked older, but you’re a junior who could be mistaken for a freshman,” Aimeric said. This comment made Laurent’s face warm and he wondered if he had hit upon some insecurity. Laurent noticed him staring and turned away, hiding whatever thoughts were reflected on his face. The reaction was curious.

“Wanna know how I was punished?” Aimeric asked, scrolling through his phone. “No more allowance.”

“Daddy took his credit cards away?”

“Yup, I was going to get my haircut too, but now I can’t afford it. Not sure if that or a broken arm is better.”

“This isn’t because of—” Laurent said and stopped. He looked down at the clean blue cast and the conversation halted awkwardly.

“This is why you don’t have friends,” Aimeric said after a prolonged silence.

-

It hadn’t been a good day. Aimeric had forgotten to cover the stitches with a bandage and couldn’t stop scratching the area and as a result, his forehead was an unattractive blotchy red. His hair needed to be kept in a ponytail to stay out of the wound and was very frequently being pulled. The first fight hadn’t gotten him in trouble, after the second he had been sent to the headmaster’s office and was punished with a week of detention. To further add to his bad luck the senior bullying him, Mathe, was also in detention that day. He sat behind Aimeric pulling his hair and whispering dirty insinuations. Mathe was the reason Aimeric had wanted to cut his hair months ago, he was on the lacrosse team and had the seniority and strength to get away with constantly picking on the lower classmen. Aimeric, for unknown reasons, had caught his interest in particular. After an hour of enduring sexual harassment Aimeric was ready for a fight even though half of his face still ached from the earlier scuffles.

Laurent was on the floor with headphones on and a book opened next to him for reference as he fiddled with some internal piece of technology. Aimeric stifled the urge to kick him. Watching Laurent fumble inelegantly with his dominant arm in a cast did help him feel a little better.

“What is this?” Aimeric asked, forgetting Laurent couldn’t hear him. On his desk was a small brown box tied with a thin blue ribbon. The tag read, "To: Aimeric, From: L." 

Laurent had remembered his birthday. He had otherwise been forgotten except for a phone call from his mom who promised a care package was on its way. The gift created a frustrating tangle of emotions. Anger was easier to feel than the confusion and idea that Laurent cared enough to go through the trouble of finding him a gift. He pulled at the ribbon undoing the bow and looked in the box. It was a black fit bit band with his initials written in gold near the matching clasp. The old band had needed to be replaced weeks ago but Aimeric had never gotten around to buying a new one. Useful and simple, it was exactly what could be expected from Laurent. Begrudgingly Aimeric tried it on and it became obvious how much he had needed the replacement. The gold initials and buckle was a nice touch. He looked at Laurent still oblivious to the world around him. He was doing that more often, sinking deep into his head. It probably meant he trusted Aimeric not to kick him while he was so deep in thought, but Aimeric still wanted to. Resisting that urge wasn’t as hard as it was the first time.

-

Aimeric had found Laurent struggling in the cafeteria to hold his tray and utensils with the one good arm. He had to force Laurent to let him help. This was his second week with the cast and now Laurent’s weight loss made sense. Aimeric wasn’t usually in the cafeteria at this time and it was coincidence he had found Laurent.

Then the malnutrition seemed to catch up to Laurent in the form of the flu.

“It’s not a good year for you,” Aimeric said, “But if you get me sick, I’ll be fucking pissed.”

“You don’t have to take care of me.” Laurent was absurdly pale with dark circles beneath his eyes. He had been attempting his homework, sitting on the bed with a blanket over his shoulders. Aimeric had brought him green tea, the soup of the day, a pocketful of crackers, and a few bottles of water. He was limited to what foods were offered that day but thought he had done well at picking something neutral that wouldn’t upset the stomach.

“Yeah? Can you walk across campus to the cafeteria by yourself? Because you barely made it to the bathroom to vomit your guts up all night.”

“Thank you, but I don’t feel like eating,” Laurent said as he accepted the cup of tea.

“Fine. I’m late for class.”

Aimeric didn’t hear from Laurent and didn’t have time to stop by the dorm before lacrosse. He wasn’t particularly worried, he didn’t think Laurent would just waste away in bed, he had a cockroach-like resiliency and Aimeric wasn’t that lucky. After lacrosse, he planned on getting his meal to go and also take something back to Laurent, but Mathe pushed Aimeric into a booth with the other teammates and trapped him there by sliding in next to him. If Aimeric had managed to set boundaries with Laurent, he could figure out how to get this senior off his back without getting benched or a broken bone.

“You don’t want to hang out with your teammates?” Mathe asked as he trapped Aimeric in the booth.

“My roommate is sick. I haven’t checked on him since lunch,” Aimeric said, now sandwiched between Mathe and the wall.

“Isn’t Laurent your roommate?” someone asked.

“…yes,” Aimeric said knowing where this conversation was going to go with the focus of the lacrosse team on the topic.

“So, is he like a little loopy? As in he might do things he wouldn’t normally do?” another person asked.

“He’d throw up on your dick if that’s what you mean,” Aimeric said. He’d heard variations of this conversation before but something about knowing that Laurent was sick in bed because of circumstances that Aimeric was probably partly responsible for made him uncomfortable.

The conversation continued around him, “Isn’t he the one who gave you those stitches?”

“Yeah, but did you see Laurent’s face? He was messed up,” someone answered for Aimeric.

“You guys get rough like that in bed?”

“Ew, no, we grew up together, he's like a cousin or something,” Aimeric said.

“So, you wouldn’t screw him if you had the chance?” another teammate asked.

“No, stone-cold bitch isn’t my type,” Aimeric said, aware that Mathe’s attention was on him and making him uneasy.

“The cold ones are always the hottest in bed,” someone else commented.

When the conversation went uncomfortably towards the speculation of specific parts of Laurent’s anatomy that would also be _hot_, Aimeric was done listening. He stood up in the booth and jumped over the back escaping the crush of his teammates.

Laurent had fallen asleep with his textbooks. After a peek over what he had been doing Aimeric saw the homework and extra credit assignments for their trigonometry class completed and nudged Laurent’s hand aside to take a picture of the pages. The movement woke him, and he lifted his blond head with a ragged breath and the cloudy eyes took a moment to focus on Aimeric’s face.

“Jesus, have you been to the nurse?”

“No,” Laurent said his voice rough, and rolled to his back and shivered.

“Taken anything?”

“Don’t have anything,” he wiped at his face, an oddly inelegant movement for Laurent as he peeled sweat plastered hair from his forehead.

“You need a shower,” Aimeric said and Laurent didn’t respond, eyes closed, his breathing odd from congestion. Aimeric watched him for a moment and then sighed, “Come on, get up.” Aimeric took his arm and pulled him off the bed. He took up most of Laurent’s weight. He had admittedly become stronger from lacrosse but was surprised how light Laurent was.

“Leave me alone,” Laurent groaned.

“I expect you to return the favor since I’m contaminated.” He got Laurent into the bathroom and turned on the shower to let the water heat. Laurent began to respond when Aimeric pulled the top off over the blond head. It was Auguste’s old Harvard sweatshirt and Aimeric set it aside gently. He went for the joggers to pull them off and Laurent reacted, jerking away and nearly falling over.

“Chill. I’m just going to throw you in the shower and hope you don’t drown.” Aimeric kept his eyes on the blond head as he gave Laurent a push into the shower. “If you can do trig you can take a shower,” he said loudly to be heard over the water.

Even Laurent’s drawers and closet were organized. Aimeric found another of Auguste’s old sweatshirts along with a pair of sweatpants and underwear to leave in the bathroom. Laurent stumbled out a few minutes later dressed in the clothes Aimeric had picked out and collapsed back into bed. With a shiver, Laurent pulled the blankets around him.

“Did you eat anything?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Ironic that you’re probably sick from malnutrition and now you can’t even eat.”

“Yes, it’s very amusing,” Laurent said and closed his eyes, still trembling.

Aimeric threw the comforter from his bed on top of Laurent completely covering him, “I don’t want to watch you shiver all night.”

“Then don’t watch,” Laurent said, the blond head emerging from beneath the blanket.

Aimeric didn’t have to watch but he could hear the occasional teeth chatter and uneven breathing. An hour or so of this and Aimeric went down to the RA’s room.

“Oh god, why are you here?” he asked. Aimeric still couldn’t remember his name.

“He’s sick and freezing, can you turn up the heat or something?”

“I don’t have access to the thermostat. It requires a key and administration is gone for the night.”

“What am I supposed to do with him then? Just let him freeze all night?”

The RA shrugged, “Take him to the infirmary if you don’t want to take care of him.”

“Yeah, right, you try taking Laurent to the infirmary.”

“Fair, but there’s nothing I can do,” said the RA.

Aimeric returned to the room, Laurent seemed to be asleep, so he put his headphones on to finish his homework. Once finished he checked on him again. Laurent lay on his side, arms wrapped around his body for warmth. Aimeric put a hand to his forehead and found it hot, Laurent’s expression pained.

He groaned, “This is stupid, and I hate you.” Aimeric nudged Laurent aside and slipped into the bed behind him.

“What are you doing?” Laurent had stiffened but didn’t have the energy to fight him.

“Relax, I’m probably the only one at this school who doesn’t want to fuck you. Are you warmer?”

“…yes.”

“Then you’re welcome.”

“Why?” Laurent asked.

“We’re basically family. You’re a pain in the ass but I don’t want you to suffer… unless it’s my doing.”

Aimeric thought Laurent had fallen asleep until he spoke, “I was a little relieved when I found you were my roommate.”

“What? Why?”

“I couldn’t trust anyone else,” he said with a sigh sounding close to sleep. Aimeric had once considered how stressful being desired by at least half of the student body could be, especially the entitled rich kids used to getting whatever they wanted. A boy claiming rape by another boy wasn’t likely to be taken too seriously. He and Laurent had put each other in the emergency room and hadn’t been separated.

“Did your other roommates bother you?” Aimeric asked, unable to remember who had previously roomed with Laurent. He didn’t get a response, Laurent had either fallen asleep or pretended to.

Aimeric woke with a sore throat and it took a bleary moment before remembering he was in Laurent’s bed and then realized his arms were around Laurent himself. The ragged breathing suggested Laurent was still asleep. Aimeric realized he didn’t have to check on his breathing to know he was sleeping; if Laurent had woken first Aimeric would have been bashed in the face as a good morning. He had remembered specifically crossing his arms and barely touching Laurent’s back, now he was entangled with the dumb blond. Rather than try to sneak away and risk being caught, Aimeric freed himself with a jerk and tumbled off the bed.

“What are you doing?” Laurent asked groggily, turning to see Aimeric jump up from the floor. He didn’t seem aware that they had been accidentally spooning.

“I didn’t set an alarm.” Aimeric glanced at the clock and saw it was a viable excuse, he had fifteen minutes to get ready for class.

“Do you have to do everything so violently?” Laurent grumbled and rolled back over sleepily.

Throughout the day, Aimeric steadily began to feel worse. He didn’t have the energy to attend lacrosse, and instead returned to the dorm to collapse.

“I try to do something nice for you and this is what I get,” he complained, struggling out of the stiff blazer.

“That’s not how germs work.” Laurent looked better, still doing homework on his bed rather than at a desk but he looked fresher not as sickly.

“Just accept responsibility.”

“Nearly half of the school is sick. I doubt I’m patient zero.”

“Can you get food?”

“You’re forgetting the catalyst to this misfortune,” Laurent said and lifted the blue cast.

“Fine, I’ll text someone.”

A friend quickly dropped off dinner, not willing to stay within proximity of the dorm room.

“See, having friends is useful,” Aimeric said, “You should try it.”

“Many things are useful but not necessary,” Laurent replied and Aimeric shook his head.

-

“If you stab me with that, I’ll put spiders in your bed,” Aimeric said as Nicaise eyed him, fork in hand looking ready to risk the retribution.

“Nicaise,” Laurent warned in a bored tone. It was the three of them isolated at the kid’s table while the adults celebrated Thanksgiving with more wine than food. Laurent had crossed his arms and legs, attention elsewhere.

“Why has no one signed your cast?” Nicaise asked, attention turning to Laurent.

“No one has asked.” Laurent looked down at the cast as though it hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Can I?” Nicaise asked.

“Alright,” Laurent agreed after a pause, and uncurled his arms to extend the cast towards Nicaise.

Nicaise collected markers and Laurent propped his head on his fist and spaced out again partly turned away from them. Aimeric picked up one of the sharpies and played a few games of tic tac toe with Nicaise, then wandered off to doodle around the thumb. He used a design of flowing shapes similar to a street art graphic he had seen.

“That’s pretty cool,” Nicaise said, taking Laurent’s thumb to move it aside in order to see more of the art. This brought Laurent’s attention down to the cast.

“It’s better than some of your other doodles,” Laurent commented.

“Do more here,” Nicaise pulled Laurent’s arm and consequently Laurent closer to Aimeric’s marker. This time he had an audience and his hand shook but managed another decent design along the knuckles.

“I would have let you do this sooner if it would have kept you off my notebooks,” Laurent said.

“Are you going to be an artist?” Nicaise asked.

Aimeric scoffed, “My dad would never let me. I’m doomed to business school to help my older brothers with the _family_ _business_.”

“One of you got out,” Laurent said, referring to one of the middle brothers who had been ostracized after making it to Canada where he was teaching philosophy at a university.

“It’s usually just one black sheep per family.”

“You could have a career,” Laurent said looking down at his cast. The blue eyes came up to look at Aimeric and it was a look of sincerity rather than the usual sarcasm and Aimeric didn’t have a response.

“Thanks,” Aimeric finally said, still holding his gaze and Laurent nodded.

-

"Are you still cut off?" Laurent asked.

“What are you doing?” Aimeric asked watching Laurent awkwardly twist his arm and using a sharpie to block out part of the cast that Nicaise had drawn on.

“Nicaise wrote quite a few— _descriptive_ words about my personality as well as my phone number which I’ve had to have changed. He wrote it where I couldn’t see it.”

Aimeric laughed, “Nice.”

“With friends like these—” Laurent mumbled, still coloring over the profanity.

“Why are you asking about my money problems?” Aimeric asked.

“Because I have the same issue.”

“The mob boss not giving his nephew an allowance anymore?”

“He never has,” Laurent said.

“Really? He used to give me things,” Aimeric said and Laurent stilled. The blue eyes lifted to Aimeric’s face carrying something dark. Aimeric had spoken without thinking, it was natural to constantly try and one up Laurent, so he didn’t realize what he had said until Laurent had reacted. There was a moment of fixed eye contact while Laurent searched his face. “What do you need money for?” Aimeric changed the topic but would think about the exchange later because he knew Laurent definitely would.

“Parts,” Laurent said, attention returning to the cast. Aimeric looked over at the jumble of electronics on the desk. He had finally figured out that Laurent was building some kind of supercomputer. If he wasn’t receiving any funds it explained why it was taking so long.

“So get a job?” Aimeric suggested.

“I don’t have the transportation and campus jobs pay more in credits than cash. There is an opening at the library I’ve applied for but I’ll need something else.”

“Sell fake ID’s,” Aimeric said, throwing himself back onto his bed.

Laurent paused again, “Fake ID’s? Is there a high demand for those?”

“Yes, you should really teenage more often.”

“You shouldn’t use adjectives as verbs. That would require money to get started,” Laurent said.

"I thought it was a noun."

"_Teenager_ is a noun, _teenage_ is an adjective."

“Whatever. I have some cash. You’re computer savvy enough to figure out how to do it quickly. I have enough contacts to start making sales. We can be business partners,” Aimeric said.

“It’s not exactly legal,” Laurent murmured.

“You can’t get what you want without risks,” Aimeric said with a shrug. Laurent looked up with a dubious expression. “What?” Aimeric asked.

“You can be a silent investor, who receives thirty-five percent of the profits with twenty percent monthly interest on the investment until it’s paid back in full.” Laurent tossed the sharpie onto the desk. Aimeric's designs had survived the blackout.

“No, it was my idea. I should get at least sixty percent plus the twenty percent monthly interest.”

“Forty percent,” Laurent said.

“Forty-five.”

“Fine. Fifty, with ten percent interest, unless you start getting an allowance again and then we renegotiate,” Laurent said.

“Fine,” Aimeric agreed, “But I also want you to show me some of your computer tricks.”

“_Computer tricks_?”

“I know you’ve hacked some of the school computers and student laptops. You leave that stupid golden star thing like a watermark on the screen.”

“I don’t have it mastered, I’m just seeing what I can do,” Laurent stated.

“I still want a tutorial.”

“I’ll put it under consideration. How much cash do you have?” Laurent asked and Aimeric retrieved his wallet. It turned out to only be a couple hundred. After some research on what would be needed to start production it was discovered that Aimeric’s money would not be enough.

“We can rent out your bed. I’m sure some boys would pay for a roll in your sheets,” Aimeric suggested.

“Are you going to whore yourself out?”

“No, I’m the pimp. I could probably sell your fucking pillow.”

“You’re whoring out my bed specifically, you mean,” Laurent said.

“Just offering ideas.”

“That does not seem to be your forte.”

“If you feel so inclined to offer more than your bed, I’m sure you could find someone willing to pay more than you need. Actually, you may not even need this business venture at all. Are you still a virgin?”

Laurent shook his head in distaste and covered his ears with headphones. Aimeric had once taken this to mean that he had won the argument but eventually realized it was Laurent saying he wasn’t worth the energy to debate with.

-

“How about this one,” Laurent handed over another piece of plastic and reluctantly Aimeric took it and compared it to his real license.

“We are polluting oceans,” Aimeric said with a yawn. They had been practicing their new trade for hours. Laurent’s perfectionism was utilizing Aimeric’s artistic eye and they weren’t close to meeting Laurent’s impossible standards.

“I’ll recycle them. How does it look?”

“Better. Passable.”

“Passable isn’t the goal,” Laurent said.

“It should be for now; you’re going to run out of blank plastic pieces and we can’t afford more.”

“There’s probably a way to strip the plastic and reuse them,” Laurent said and sat his laptop in front of him to look up how to do just that.

“Have you considered that it might not be you, but the machinery? We picked out what was affordable, not what would create a perfect imitation.”

“We’ve made improvements on our own so it’s not entirely the equipment.”

“Whatever, but I think you can start selling them now.”

“I want to do a few more trials. If you tell your friends to send me their pictures, I’ll offer them discounts.”

“Sure,” Aimeric said and collapsed back onto the bed.

-

Laurent’s business was ready in two weeks, the rest of the equipment had been funded by pre-orders. It took several tries before Laurent was satisfied with his work. Aimeric had ten new ID’s, all varying degrees of passable. Laurent had only made himself a motorcycle license.

Aimeric hadn’t been granted the title of partner, but when Laurent’s business grew past expectations Aimeric’s part became larger, even becoming the face of the business. The money exchanged Aimeric’s hands before Laurent’s who ended up preferring his role in the background as manufacturer.

The stables were an easy place for transactions and Aimeric had a few meetings there on a cloudy Saturday. He didn’t know there were equestrian events scheduled for the day and the normally quiet space had more spectators than Aimeric would have expected for watching horses jump over things. Curiosity had him pausing to watch and realized the rider about to start the course was Laurent. It was the black and blue cast that gave him away, as well as the blond hair beneath the black riding helmet. The rest of the outfit was tight white pants, small dark blazer, and knee-high boots. It was a cute outfit, Aimeric would prefer seeing it on someone else but he understood the attraction and what drew some of the crowd. Aimeric leaned against the wooden corral fence to watch.

Reluctantly, Aimeric admitted to himself that Laurent was good on the horse and the crowd agreed. It made him wonder if some of them were here specifically for Laurent. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth and that constant irritation he always felt tickling inside him clenched into resentment. Watching the last few riders complete the course confirmed his suspicions as they didn’t receive half the applause Laurent had. Then of course Laurent was given the large blue ribbon for first place. That hot feeling of anger was hard in his stomach when he went for the stables ready to pick a fight.

Aimeric took a moment to watch Laurent while he took care of the horse and some of his irritation waned. While thinking no one was watching, Laurent showed signs of fatigue that went beyond physical but was still very gentle when dealing with the horse and removing the bridle from the grey mare’s head.

Disguising his voice, Aimeric said, “You wanna ride my face the way you ride that saddle?” Laurent stiffened and turned with a sharp expression ready to snap back with some deadly remark. He recognized Aimeric and deflated. Aimeric was a little offended that he no longer seemed worth the effort to be given a fight let alone a retort.

“What are you doing here?” Laurent asked, placing a hand on the mare’s neck as a hoof scuffed the ground. The change in mood had made the horse uneasy. 

“Making some exchanges. I stopped to watch when I saw you.”

“You sell them here?” Laurent looked back at him with his patented ‘_are you stupid?_’ look.

“Usually it’s deserted.”

“Which makes the number of people who frequent here very small thus an even smaller suspect pool.”

“Who says ‘thus’?” Aimeric asked.

Laurent sighed, “Just don’t sell them around here anymore.”

“Fine.” Aimeric crossed his arms and leaned against the stall door.

“Was there something else you needed?” Laurent asked after a moment of silence.

“Just observing,” Aimeric said. He had been interested in the horse grooming, but knowing his presence irritated Laurent increased his interest in staying. While Laurent was turned away cleaning the saddle, the horse curiously took a step towards Aimeric extending a speckled nose. Aimeric reflexively took a step back out of reach. He had never been this close to an actual horse and the large animal moving towards him was disconcerting.

“She just wants to smell you,” Laurent said with a glance back as the horse took another step forward and Aimeric took another back.

“You know those tight white pants don’t leave much to the imagination,” Aimeric said, lashing out, preferring his resentment to fear. Laurent deftly turned and caught his wrist in a grip that expressed his irritation.

“Just hold still,” Laurent said and held Aimeric’s hand in place so the horse could press her velvety nose to his palm.

“Oh.” The noise escaped Aimeric at the surprisingly soft feel of the muzzle. Laurent released him and Aimeric kept his hand in place even as the horse snorted hot air against his skin. Hesitantly he petted the horse’s head with both hands. Laurent instructed him how to feed the mare some carrot pieces while Laurent softly brushed her down. It was oddly soothing to feel the thick lips nuzzle his hand looking for treats. He could understand the appeal but didn’t like the musky smell left behind on his hands. The silence didn’t even bother him, it was one of the few times he and Laurent had found an amicable silence.

Aimeric went to the next few show jumping competitions as well as the polo matches. Eventually he was familiar enough with the horses that Laurent convinced him to ride one. Laurent had tentatively informed Aimeric that there were trails for riding and that, if he wanted, they could go sometime. Aimeric had agreed.

-

“Hey, guess what,” Aimeric dropped his suitcase on the floor of Laurent’s room. He had startled Laurent who was curled up on a chaise, bare feet tucked under himself and a book open on his lap.

“Why are you here?” Laurent asked.

“Didn’t you hear?” Aimeric asked, stepping into Laurent’s bedroom, “The pipes burst in the family mansion, your uncle invited us to stay here.”

Laurent’s book slammed closed and he stood crossing his arms awkwardly with the cast in his way, “Don’t you have multiple properties?”

“Yes,” Aimeric said, he had never been in Laurent’s room before and was going to be nosy for as long as he was tolerated. “My vote was for the vacation home in Hawaii, but we couldn’t miss the big holiday parties.”

“Of course not,” Laurent said sarcastically and closely watched Aimeric casually stroll around the room. The large windows allowed a lot of natural light and a large leafy plant flourished in a corner. It was a minimalistic theme; the only decoration on the walls was a triangle Harvard flag over the bed. On the bedside table, next to the reading lamp, was a toy horse and a family picture featuring Laurent’s parents and a small Laurent on Auguste’s lap. Everything else was predictably neat and impersonal. It was all decidedly boring. Later, if the opportunity presented itself, he’d go through some drawers but didn’t expect to find anything of interest.

“We have guest rooms,” Laurent said eyeing Aimeric’s suitcase on his floor.

“Well, some brothers are here so us ‘younger ones’ are going to be inconvenienced.”

Laurent’s stare was cold, “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Why? You have a large enough bed.” Aimeric didn’t actually want to share a bed but enjoyed the scathing look from the blue eyes.

“Can I stay here too?” Nicaise was at the door. Aimeric looked to Laurent who had stiffened into that meerkat posture. An uncomfortable silence stretched out and Nicaise’s face soured then puckered. Laurent was going to turn his back and let Nicaise leave dejected and alone. Aimeric sympathized, as the youngest, he had been rejected from many similar situations.

“It’s okay with me,” Aimeric said as Nicaise was turning away his expression dark and defeated.

“Really?” Nicaise asked as Aimeric heard Laurent inhale sharply.

“I mean, why not?” Aimeric said, turning to direct the question more at Laurent expecting an explanation for the odd behavior. He didn’t usually deny Nicaise anything and this seemed like a simple thing to give him.

“…sure,” Laurent agreed and turned away on his bare feet, arms still crossed.

-

Laurent was a cold presence in the corner, curled up on the chaise with book and headphones as his room was invaded. Aimeric and Nicaise were in the process of setting up a tent using bedsheets and went on a hunt to collect pillows and blankets. Nicaise had taken some of the lights from one of the Christmas trees and added them to their haul. By the time it was dark most of Laurent’s bedroom floor was covered in blankets and pillows with sheets draped around haphazardly from wall to wall and framed by multi-colored Christmas lights. Nicaise forced Laurent to join them by turning out the room lights so that if he wanted to continue reading he had to do so under the strings of lights. He did so grumpily still wearing the headphones and rested on his stomach among some couch cushions. Aimeric rolled his eyes when he saw he was doing homework. Nicaise kicked his ass at Mario Kart and then Smash on the switch. A few hours of this and Nicaise convinced Laurent to join who had to get up to find his own switch before he also started beating Aimeric in every game.

Nicaise was drifting off, resting against Laurent who absently had a hand in the dark curls. They heard rather than saw the door open, and then dark leather shoes appeared at the opening of the tent. Aimeric hadn’t been expecting their uncle, but it was L.R., the Don himself, who knelt on one knee to look into their tent. The presence had changed the relaxed sleepy atmosphere.

“Nicaise, the older boys probably want some time to themselves, why don’t we leave them alone.”

“I don’t want to,” Nicaise said.

“Aimeric is staying with us for a while, you’ll have plenty of time to play later.”

“I’m not bothering them. Laurent will let me stay,” Nicaise said and pulled Laurent’s arm with the cast across his body. Laurent had his eyes turned down, posture painfully stiff.

“Nicaise, Laurent knows the consequences of disobeying,” L.R. said and the three sets of eyes dropped to the blue cast. “We don’t want something like that to happen again, do we?”

“He’s not bothering us,” Aimeric said carefully.

“Even if that’s the case, there are rules to be followed. You know this Aimeric, you were always an obedient child.” The words sounded soothing but had the opposite effect on all three boys and Aimeric suddenly felt sick. L.R. held out a hand and reluctantly Nicaise took it and was escorted from the room.

“What the hell was that?” Aimeric asked. He felt sick, the tent was too hot, and his hands had started to shake. Laurent turned away, a hand over his mouth and the other arm around his stomach. The gesture expressed more emotion than anything he could have said.

“Why didn’t you do anything?” Aimeric asked. It was like his unconscious had blocked his mental processes to keep him from realizing what was wrong. The anger, that he could usually summon by just will power, wasn’t protecting him from the nausea.

“I can’t physically stop him,” Laurent said quietly and touched his cast. Something clicked, and Aimeric rushed to the bathroom. The realizations came in waves and so did the sickness. On his knees, in front of the toilet, he couldn’t believe how oblivious he had been.

Aimeric moved shakily to his feet and doused his face and mouth with water. Rage was finally there, hot and familiar coiling in his empty stomach. His legs trembled but he was propelled forward with purpose. He wanted answers but Laurent was gone. In a fit of fury, he destroyed the tent, but it was unsatisfactory. Laurent’s cast had protected him from any previous fights, it was an unfair advantage for Aimeric to have two fists when he was already physically bigger. Now, cast or not he was going to get answers even if he had to beat them out of the dumb blond. Unfortunately, it would have to wait. Aimeric went to the window at the sound of an engine and saw Laurent on Auguste’s motorcycle tearing off down the driveway. Aimeric hadn’t known the bike was still around but the fake motorcycle license now made sense.

Aimeric decided to also utilize his fake ID that claimed he was 22 and left with his father’s Rolls Royce.

-

Laurent sat across from Aimeric at the breakfast table. They had both returned from their separate adventures around the same time, but Laurent had slipped away from Aimeric before he could pin him down. Now he sat with his coffee and tangerines looking irritatingly fresh despite the sleepless night. Aimeric was petty enough to kick him in the shins beneath the table until Laurent was forced to curl his legs up and sit cross-legged in his chair. Nicaise was next to Laurent quietly eating his cereal and stealing sips from Laurent’s coffee when Aimeric distracted him. Nicaise seemed subdued, and despite Aimeric knowing he wasn’t a morning person, continued to watch him until Nicaise complained about the scrutiny.

Aimeric wasn’t going to catch Laurent unaware, he was used to being a few steps behind in the never-ending game of chess. His best bet, as always, was to rely on human nature and its natural requirements. From being Laurent’s roommate, he knew for a fact that he could go longer without sleep.

Nicaise talked him into playing video games, and Aimeric now understood Laurent’s reluctance to deny him anything. Nicaise was smart enough to know this, and also realize this now applied to Aimeric.

Unexpectedly, Laurent joined them and curled up on the couch with Nicaise between him and Aimeric, choosing that spot to take his nap. Aimeric had hoped to catch Laurent in his bed where he could confront him privately, but once again Laurent had outmaneuvered him. The game room was off the main area where Aimeric could currently hear his dad talking in the other room. He couldn’t get away with working out any aggression towards Laurent.

Thirty or so minutes of playing and they were interrupted by L.R, “Ah, there he is. I have been looking for Laurent,” he said. Guion staying in his shadow like always followed him in. Aimeric slouched in his seat attempting to shrink out of his dad’s radar.

“How are you boys this morning?” L.R. asked in greeting and passed a pack of skittles to Nicaise.

“Fine,” Aimeric mumbled, not wanting to risk seeming rude while his dad was around and acting as the Don’s pitbull.

“Did I hear a motorcycle last night?” Guion asked. Aimeric sunk a little deeper into the couch. If he had heard the motorcycle did he know Aimeric had taken the Rolls? He would get the shit beat out of him if Guion even suspected Aimeric had touched that car.

“Laurent found Auguste’s motorcycle in storage. He seems to think he can come and go as he pleases. Always taking advantage of my kindness.” L.R. said. Aimeric cringed when he dropped a hand into Laurent’s hair stroking the blond locks.

“Still running away. Unfortunate he doesn’t take after Auguste,” Guion said. “Attractive and smart can’t make up for being the runt of the litter especially if he does nothing with the intelligence.”

“It is a shame he hasn’t yet grown out of the rebellious phase. He was such a sweet boy,” L.R. said. Aimeric felt nauseated again as Laurent’s peaceful sleeping expression shifted to one of distress with his uncle’s hand in his hair. The Don gazed down at his nephew with a look of regretful longing, as though his favorite food had recently been taken off the menu. Aimeric remembered his comment towards Laurent about looking younger than his actual age and the way Laurent had flushed.

“Where are you going?” Nicaise asked as Aimeric stood.

“Bathroom,” he said and fled.

-

Aimeric attempted to stay near his mom for the rest of the holiday season. He wondered if he was experiencing PTSD and slept very little avoiding Nicaise, Laurent, and their uncle.

Returning to school was a relief apart from the stifling proximity the small dorm room forced on him and Laurent. In the middle of January Laurent’s cast came off and was replaced with a bloody nose.

“I assumed you knew,” Laurent said. He hadn’t attempted to fight back but accepted the outburst of violence as though he had been waiting for it.

“Just because it happened to me, I should have assumed it happened to you?” Aimeric asked incredulously. “I’m sorry I didn’t immediately jump to incest.”

“And you think he adopted Nicaise out of the kindness of his heart?” Laurent was sarcastic but not especially threatening with a towel pressed to his bleeding nose.

“I don’t know, both his parents were active in the mob and when they died it just kind of made sense that the boss should take him in. Expressing gratitude for putting them in the line of fire or whatever,” Aimeric said with a shrug while Laurent shook his head.

“Unless they were purposefully put on the front lines to be killed,” Laurent said.

“You think your uncle would go that far?”

“I wouldn’t discount it.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Aimeric asked.

Laurent didn’t respond, he was clearly uncomfortable and couldn’t control the dark blush. Aimeric thought his eyes should have stopped watering from the punch by now. “There’s— not much I can do short term anymore,” he said finally.

“Anymore? What were you doing?” Aimeric asked and impossibly Laurent reddened further, still adamantly avoiding eye contact. The silent response seemed to confirm Aimeric’s suspicions that Laurent had offered to take Nicaise’s place until he was no longer wanted. Aimeric wanted to hit him again.

“What are you doing long term?” Aimeric asked a different question.

“I’m working on something.”

“And selling ID’s so you can work on your supercomputer is a part of that?”

“Yes.” Laurent still hadn’t looked at him.

“Alright,” Aimeric said, “I don’t think I want to know all of the details but if you need something I’ll help.”

With his gaze still cast down, Laurent nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is also a part 2 for the spring semester coming soon and then the regular story will resume.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some non-con

“Are you going to do it?” 

“Probably,” Aimeric said, “I mean, why not, he’s hot.” He looked down at his English paper with the D-. The low grade irritated him. There were other and better ways to get his attention. His friend had followed him from class and during the walk, they discussed the paper and the _ offer _.

“Hi, Laurent.”

“Hi,” Aimeric echoed his friend sourly, knowing that this was another one of those times he was being used for his connection to the dumb blond.

“Hey,” Laurent replied without looking up. A dusting of snow sat on his hood and shoulders. His nose and cheeks were rosy behind the fog of breath directed down at his phone. Aimeric looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow as he waited awkwardly. Laurent clearly wasn’t going to offer anything else.

“Okay, see you later, Aimeric.” He left defeated.

“You’re late.” Laurent tucked his phone into a coat pocket.

“The prof held me after class,” Aimeric kept the paper out of sight as a thought occurred to him. “You took English Lit 200 with Aluin last year, right?”

“Yes,” Laurent said fishing in his satchel.

“Did you have to do any _ extra credit _?”

“I chose to do the extra credit,” Laurent said distracted. “One is a thirty point book report for Hamlet. I would recommend doing it.”

Aimeric pulled his backpack off his shoulders, “No, I mean did you have to do like any _ oral _reports?”

“The midterm is an oral report on War and Peace,” Laurent said, as they exchanged new ID’s from the satchel for cash from Aimeric’s backpack. Laurent stepped closer, using Aimeric to hide the large stack of bills that he thumbed through to quickly count. Aimeric didn’t continue the conversation. He knew Laurent had missed the insinuations but didn’t think it was from accidental naivety. 

Aimeric wandered off to sell the new batch of ID’s and didn’t hear the last of what Laurent had to say. Professor Aluin had chosen him and not Laurent and Aimeric couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Had anyone ever chosen him over Laurent? 

-

“Are you failing English?” Laurent asked. Aimeric had just returned from lacrosse practice and panicked when he saw what Laurent was holding.

“Did you go through my desk?” 

“My bookbag knocked some things off your desk,” Laurent said, the reports marked with D’s still in his hands. “I read this one. It’s worth at least a B plus. Have you talked to the professor?” Laurent sounded genuinely concerned and it further pissed Aimeric off. He hadn’t enjoyed practice, the rivalry with Mathe was reaching a breaking point and he was ready for a fight. The D’s on his papers was something of a euphemism but Aimeric still didn’t like seeing them on his hard work. With effort, Aimeric controlled the emotional turmoil and calmly accepted the papers when Laurent offered them.

“I can go with you if you want.”

“I don’t need your help,” Aimeric said slowly, controlling his tone. He was almost ready to turn around and leave the room. If this continued there would be a fight and the sincerity of Laurent’s expression as well as his offer to assist him was not helping Aimeric stay calm.

“Have you already said something?” Laurent asked.

“No— I mean yes— I have it worked out.”

“When did you talk to him?”

“_ Laurent _.” Aimeric’s teeth ground together. “Let it go. I’m handling it.”

It was a mistake to order Laurent to leave an issue alone, he saw it in the rise of his chin and hardening of the crystal blue eyes. 

“Please,” Aimeric said, trying to correct the problem. It was too late. The soft compassionate version was replaced by the wildtype Laurent that was all hard edges and a sharp expression. 

As predicted Laurent didn’t let it go and took action only two days later. Lacrosse practice had been brutal. After a few hard collisions with Mathe and other seniors, Aimeric had been benched. The care center for athletes was next to the offices and Aimeric limped out with a brace and bulky ice pack taped to his knee in time to see a familiar blond head enter the student affairs office.

Aimeric followed Laurent, suspicious of his mission. He only caught the tail end of the conversation and saw the secretary exit towards the back leaving him alone in the lobby with Laurent. 

"What are you doing?" Aimeric asked. Any warmth that had been directed at the secretary dissolved by the time Laurent’s gaze met his. They had not made up since their last fight and the animosity remained nearly tangible. 

"Waiting for you,” Laurent said.

"What does that mean?" Aimeric asked. He should have seen it coming, Laurent's glance around for spectators was beyond obvious. Aimeric was hit with a swift kick and fell to one knee. His bad knee.

"_Mother fucker_," he groaned, teeth grinding together. Laurent crouched down out of sight, as the receptionist returned to find Aimeric on the ground in pain. Laurent discreetly crawled around to the other side of the desk and out of sight making Aimeric an unwilling diversion. The dumb blond was likely planting one of his new hacking devices. Aimeric plotted his revenge as the receptionist called the nurse from next door and he quietly watched Laurent sneak out while the focus was on him. 

It took Aimeric a long time to hobble across the campus on the crutches and back to the dorm, but his anger wasn’t dampened.

“_What the fuck is wrong with you _?” Aimeric stormed in ready to fight. 

Laurent had been waiting, and like a movie villain turned in his desk chair with arms and legs crossed. “Are you fucking your English teacher?” Laurent asked calmly.

This wasn’t what Aimeric expected and his lie came out unconvincing, “No—”

“I’ve been through your grades. Your papers have D’s on them, but the grades online are all A’s.”

“I told you I got it worked out,” Aimeric said. 

Laurent turned back to the computer, “Something I’ve noticed is that when a grade is edited a little pencil icon appears here.” Laurent pointed to the screen. “None of your grades have that mark. After comparing the dates on your papers with the timestamps online, at most a week had gone by before the grades were entered. It’s the same for your classmates.” 

“So, what’s your theory then?” Aimeric sounded scornful as he sat on his bed. If there wasn’t going to be a fight, he needed to take the weight off his knee. 

“Professor Aluin has manipulated and taken advantage of you.”

“I’m not being manipulated,” Aimeric said angrily.

“You’re very easy to manipulate,” Laurent said dismissively. Aimeric was on his feet going to tackle Laurent, but his knee reminded him that he shouldn’t even be standing. He groaned and sat back down.

“So, what are you going to do?” Aimeric asked his voice rough. If he hadn’t been in pain maybe he could have thought of a convincing lie or misdirect.

“Have him removed from the school, if not put in prison,” Laurent said.

“No. Just leave it alone. It’s none of your business.”

“You were sick to your stomach when you learned what was happening with Nicaise,” Laurent said. His arms and legs tightly crossed as if holding himself back from hitting Aimeric.

“Nicaise is eleven. I’m sixteen. I can decide who I want to fuck.”

“And you decided on someone twice your age?” Laurent looked sickened and it pissed Aimeric off. Laurent was also only sixteen he didn’t get to be morally superior.

“He picked me. He could have picked you last semester, but he didn’t.”

“He’s a predator, he knows how to pick victims.”

“_I’m not a victim _.” Aimeric forgot about his knee. He pulled Laurent from the desk chair and they landed together with a painful thump on the hardwood. Aimeric was on top and kept his hands in fists because what he wanted was to strangle Laurent. Instead, he hit him. Continuously.

Laurent’s voice broke through the struggle, “Did you think you were a victim last time?”

Aimeric paused, jarred from the fit of rage. Laurent’s dominant hand was trapped in Aimeric’s fist and he had taken a lot of damage unable to defend himself.

The last thing Aimeric wanted was to be reminded of that other experience. A wave of nausea came over him with a new rush of anger, “It’s not the same. Why don’t you just mind your own business?” 

“Because you’re so damaged you don’t see the problem with it.” Even on his back with his mouth like a bloody smear Laurent’s tone was deprecating like he was trying to explain something of an adult nature to a slow child.

“Sixteen is legal in some places,” Aimeric said.

“Not here,” Laurent growled, and with a grunt torqued his body, flipping Aimeric to the side.

“You don’t understand because everyone always wants you—” Aimeric grappled with Laurent struggling to get back on top. “Fucking stupid hot blond with perfect grades.” Usually, he had the advantage of weight when their fights turned to wrestling matches, but his knee was a handicap. “_ Someone chose me before you _.” 

Briefly, Laurent was on top and with teeth bared delivered a hard hit to Aimeric’s face. He was a little frightening with all that red around his mouth and staining his teeth. He didn’t hold back and hit hard, blue eyes bright and sharp. Aimeric knocked him off, not intimidated by Laurent’s anger while he had his own. 

“Why are you taking this away from me?” Aimeric held his fist above Laurent’s face.

Laurent spit out a mouthful of blood, “Because I care about you.” The words were ground out, twisting his pleasant voice. Aimeric paused but didn’t get a chance to reply. They were interrupted by their neighbors barging in and separating them.

-

Only a few days later Professor Aluin was arrested and escorted off-campus. Aimeric was there when he was taken away. Somehow the names of the students that had been ‘taken advantage of’ were leaked and Aimeric learned he was not the only one. 

The dorm room was uncomfortable and Aimeric tried not to be around Laurent. Other people were also a nuisance. They either offered condolences for Aimeric’s ordeal or congratulated him on scoring a hot professor. Being forced to rest his knee and not having a way to work out any aggression made everything more difficult. Instead, he did the opposite and stayed in bed. For Christmas, Laurent had gifted him a little sketch pad, the only art supply he had ever been given. It didn’t help with the physical frustration but it was satisfying to fill the pages while he rested his knee.

What he hated to admit was that Laurent had been right. Habits he hadn’t done in years were returning. His skin had been clawed at until he bled. He had done this as a child, anxiously scratching at his flesh like it was an uncomfortable covering that didn’t fit right.

Further frustrating him was Laurent bringing him meals when Aimeric didn’t see the point in getting out of bed. He didn’t want anyone taking pity on him, especially Laurent. Saturday, Laurent packed his satchel and left the room. Later, Aimeric learned Laurent had taken extra shifts at the library, finding somewhere to be when Aimeric wanted to be alone. He hated that the person who seemed to understand him best was Laurent.

-

“What are you doing for spring break?” Aimeric asked. He was almost finished packing and was beyond ready to be away from the school. A few weeks had passed since professor Aluin’s arrest and the drama had nearly been forgotten. Aimeric’s parents had been called to the school and there was still the ghost of a bruise on his jaw from his father’s rings. He wouldn’t admit it but he liked the daily phone calls from his mom despite her insistence that he needed to see a therapist.

“Just going home,” Laurent said. He had been looking down at his empty suitcase for more than a few minutes and it had prompted Aimeric to speak. They had not been friendly since their last fight. Laurent’s mouth still hadn’t completely healed. It was the hardest Aimeric had ever hit him with his fists and his pretty mouth had been damaged for weeks. Aimeric's left eye had been nearly swollen shut for several days but it still didn’t equate to the busted mouth. With their battle scars still lingering, talking had been difficult.

“You could— come with us,” Aimeric said and found he didn’t regret offering the invitation. Laurent being a part of his friend group would mean Aimeric would be given a lot less attention and considering the current events it didn’t seem like a bad thing.

Laurent didn’t immediately respond, “Where are you going?”

“Thailand,” Aimeric said.

Laurent looked up with a raised eyebrow, “Thailand?” 

“Phuket has good surfing,” Aimeric replied. The school physician had given his knee the pass for mild activities even though lacrosse would still have to wait a few weeks.

“I don’t know how to surf,” Laurent said blankly, gaze returning to the unpacked suitcase.

“Auguste never taught you?” Most of Aimeric’s memories of Auguste were of him on a surfboard or just at the beach. Laurent was distantly in those memories as well, hidden in the shade somewhere with a book in hand.

“No, I— he wanted me to become a stronger swimmer first.” Laurent took in a breath and passed a hand over his face. “Nicaise is excited to see me.”

“So, we’ll just bring him,” Aimeric said and Laurent snorted. “Have you ever even been out of the states?”

“I’ve been to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.”

“That was a school trip,” Aimeric said. “You need a vacation. When’s the last time your pale ass got some sun?”

“I don’t tan like you do,” Laurent said and handed over his phone so Aimeric could see the list of texts from Nicaise asking when Laurent would be back.

“He calls you ‘Lo’? That’s cute but not phonetic. Should be La. Or LaLa like the telletubbie.”

“Aimeric, shut up,” Laurent said and snatched his phone back.

“I’m changing your contact name to that,” Aimeric stated. Laurent sighed and finally began to fill the suitcase.

-

Aimeric returned from spring break with a tan and Laurent came back with a motorcycle. He had found the bike several months ago, but it was finally warm enough to ride it to school. With Auguste’s old bike, leather jacket, and combat boots Laurent had gained even more sex appeal. Aimeric hoped it snowed.

-

Aimeric threw himself down on the bench and ripped the lacrosse helmet off his head. He had been taken out of the game for the second time that night. The animosity between him and Mathe had leaked onto the field and was disrupting the game but it was Aimeric who was being punished. It was one of the first few games he had been allowed to play in and Mathe was ruining the experience.

“Bad game to have him watching,” the teammate next to Aimeric said.

“Who?” Aimeric asked grumpily. He picked up his water bottle and followed the gesture towards the stands finding Laurent amongst the crowd. “Has he been here the whole time?” Aimeric asked.

“You didn’t notice?” the teammate asked.

“I’ve been occupied,” Aimeric grumbled. He was put back in for the last few minutes of the game to be actively a part of the frustrating defeat. He didn’t expect to see Laurent until he had returned to the dorm but instead found him waiting outside the locker room with two paper cups.

“Did you have to be the last one out? I’ve had to endure all of your teammates.” Laurent pushed off the wall and offered Aimeric one of the drinks.

“I have to endure them for longer than a passing catcall,” Aimeric said and sniffed at the lid trying to determine what was in the cup.

“Hot chocolate with cinnamon,” Laurent supplied. Aimeric didn’t like that he remembered his favorite drink. What did Laurent like? Something with peppermint.

“Why are you here?” Aimeric asked.

“Curiosity,” Laurent said.

“It wasn’t a good game to watch.”

“Your coach plays favorites,” Laurent said.

“There’s a hierarchy, seniors get the most playtime.”

They walked to the cafeteria without announcing where they planned to go and the silence continued throughout the meal. It was surprisingly comfortable. Usually, he was pulled into the team meal and if they had won, he may have wanted to join but at the moment he couldn't take any more of Mathe or the others. It was the first time he and Laurent had spent time together outside of the dorm since their fight and it was easier than expected. Laurent had given him an excuse not to join the team and he was grateful. 

Either Laurent had picked up on this or it was some type of karma. Aimeric had gone to his equestrian events and now Laurent was showing up at the lacrosse games and giving Aimeric the needed excuse to avoid the seniors during the aftergame meal. The downside was he had to weather more comments and insinuations that he and Laurent were fucking. Aimeric denied them but it brought him a form of notoriety, he had conquered the unconquerable and while it was tempting to ride that fame, it wasn't what he wanted to be known for. 

"I've noticed a decline in would be 'suitors',” Laurent said. “Apparently, I've been _ claimed _.”

"You talk so weird," Aimeric said. They were at another post-game meal and Aimeric didn't want to have this conversation. He was still pissed from the game. The team was on a losing streak and while Aimeric was doing his best to ignore Mathe it wasn't working in his favor. The more he ignored him the harder he was pursued. It used to just be comments or his hair pulled, but today, while he was in the process of changing into his uniform Mathe, had passed a hand across his chest groping him. Aimeric hadn't been with another person since the ‘event’ and his first response was to throw a punch. The attempt was sloppy, and his attack was blocked. He was shoved against the lockers, the handle bruising his back. Mathe had a forearm across his shoulders pinning him in place. The other hand, low on Aimeric's bare hip had more of his attention. They were separated by the rest of the team before anything else could happen. Aimeric had chosen his anger over the shaky nauseous feeling and several fouls were called on him during the game for aggressive behavior.

"I don't mind," Laurent said.

"You don't mind that you talk weird?" Aimeric asked and scratched at his arm.

"No, I don't mind the lack of attention. Perhaps I should have tried a fake boyfriend approach years ago," Laurent said and Aimeric choked.

"Do not help that rumor spread."

"It doesn't seem to detract anything from your reputation. Apparently, it requires great strength and stamina to take me every night."

"Laurent, I'm fucking eating," Aimeric complained. 

"I suppose all of our fighting is seen as foreplay? The winner gets to top?" Laurent continued.

"Oh my god." Aimeric threw down his fork. Laurent breathed a laugh and stood up to refill his coffee mug.

"I got something last night," Laurent said when he returned.

The groggy memory of Laurent leaving in the middle of the night returned to him. "Where did you go?" Aimeric asked. 

"Out," Laurent said vaguely. 

"Okay, then what did you bring back?" Aimeric asked with a sigh. Their moods could never synchronize. Laurent was light and a little teasing while Aimeric was thinking of crawling into bed for the weekend.

Laurent said, "Fireworks."

-

"Ready?" Aimeric knelt with lighter in hand. "Run." With the fuse lit, both boys took off down the hill. The grass was crunchy with frost. Laurent slipped in his new combat boots and slid down the remainder of the slope. Arms pinwheeling to keep his balance, Aimeric grabbed Laurent in passing and pulled him up. The momentum kept them both going and they sprinted back to the cover of the buildings. The first firework went off behind them, lighting up the night and the sound waves from the explosion were nearly deafening and echoed off the old stone halls.

"Here." Laurent veered to the right and Aimeric followed. They had reached the Anthropology building and hid in the foliage to the side of the stairs. More of the fireworks went off and boys exited the nearby dorms to watch.

They had rigged one long fuse and several were set to go off simultaneously and when it was their turn the night was lit up with flashes of multicolored explosions and _ booms _ that shook the buildings. The boys applauded and cheered at the finale before dispersing, chattering about the show.

"Where did you find those?" Aimeric asked. They were high-quality fireworks and with Laurent spending all of his money on computer parts he was essentially broke.

"A police contraband locker," Laurent replied.

"What?" For a moment Aimeric thought it was a sarcastic remark. 

"It was a trial run, just to see if I could do it," Laurent said, explaining nothing.

"Why?" Aimeric asked, still uncertain if he was serious. The idea of Laurent breaking into anything was outlandish. Even him trying to manage combat boots with his school uniform was odd. Then again Laurent had been managing an illegal business while developing his hacking skills. Maybe this was more like the real Laurent and Aimeric had never been allowed to see past the facade of sweaters and straight A's. 

"Because there's something I want from a more guarded area, and I needed to work out the particulars."

"What do you need to steal from a police evidence locker?" 

"I want the security footage from the night Auguste was killed," Laurent said.

"Laurent," Aimeric said with an exhale, "Don't do that to yourself."

"I need to know what happened."

"What happened is that he was in a shootout. I have an uncle and cousins who were killed, one of my brothers has been shot. We lose people. It happens."

"No," Laurent said, "Auguste told me he had gotten an engineering job in New York. I don’t understand why he would even go to that exchange.”

“People have been killed for trying to leave the mob,” Aimeric suggested.

“I was the only one he told. He was going to get settled and then come back for me. He had started the custody paperwork,” Laurent said and folded his arms.

"Do you think he was set up?" Aimeric asked after a short silence.

"I think- something went wrong. Maybe it was a set up from the Akielons or something internal."

“Akielons aren’t really known for subterfuge,” Aimeric said.

“That bastard Kastor is different from the others,” Laurent said quietly as he began to retreat into his thoughts.

“What are you going to do when you find the person responsible?” Aimeric asked.

“Kill him,” Laurent said simply.

-

After another lost game, Aimeric was taking his time in the showers. 

“Aimeric, your boyfriend is waiting,” the voice was mocking and superseded by laughter. They had overused this joke. Laurent could wait. Unlike previous games, Aimeric had stayed in the entire time and had discovered his knee hadn’t healed enough to endure the strain. He wasn’t going to let his coach know that though. The hot water made him feel better and he stayed until his skin turned rosy. He continued to take his time and searched for his knee brace before dressing. 

A shadow fell over him. Aimeric startled and turned. Mathe shoved him back in a repeat of the incident a few weeks ago. This time it was just the two of them, the locker room deserted.

“Get off,” Aimeric shoved back but wasn’t as strong as the senior.

“Do you really want that?” Mathe had pressed against Aimeric pinning him entirely to the lockers.

“Yeah, dumbass, I’ve been avoiding you for over a year. Take a hint.” Aimeric spit it out. He was sick of Mathe ruining lacrosse for him, as well as his knee, and the majority of two semesters.

“You fucked the teacher, why not me?” Mathe’s hand was traveling down Aimeric’s naked side. Aimeric was reaching for that ever-present anger but was finding panic and nausea instead. The angle wasn’t right to throw a punch, Mathe was too close. He couldn’t use his legs, the bad knee couldn’t handle the weight or be used to kick. 

“Because you’re a bully, and fucking you isn’t going to improve anything in my life.” Aimeric at least sounded angry. The hands on his body were distracting and made his skin itch.

Mathe didn’t give a response, just caught Aimeric’s jaw trying to force a kiss on him. Aimeric struggled but his knee was a handicap and any attempts to fight back made pain shoot up his leg. Mathe’s hand slid into Aimeric’s pants to grab his ass. Aimeric managed a forceful shove but it only jostled him. Mathe backhanded him. Aimeric’s head struck the lockers. Pain surged through his leg as he was turned, belly against the cold metal. From this angle there would be no fighting back. Mathe had his hands down Aimeric’s pants again. Aimeric swore and insulted Mathe in every conceivable way. Mathe took Aimeric by the hair and slammed his head into the lockers.

“Shut up, or I’ll give your mouth something else to do,” he said into Aimeric’s ear and ground his hips against Aimeric’s ass letting him feel the erection. Aimeric gritted his teeth, forehead against the cold metal. He was about ready to accept this was happening and maybe Mathe would leave him alone once he got this out of his system. 

Then the weight was taken from his back with a jerk accompanied by the harsh snap of electricity. Aimeric turned to find Laurent with a taser in hand, glaring down at Mathe twitching on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” Laurent asked, looking at Aimeric.

“You are such a cock block,” Aimeric breathed and found himself reaching out to Laurent for balance.

“You fucking bitch,” Mathe muttered trying to push himself up. Laurent tasered him again. 

“Come on.” He grabbed Aimeric’s backpack and looped an arm around his waist to support him.

Outside the locker room, Laurent found a chair and wedged it beneath the door handle.

“Stay here,” he said and took off at a sprint leaving Aimeric alone propped up against the wall. Aimeric finished dressing and about ten minutes later Laurent returned.

“What did you do?” Aimeric asked as campus security approached them. Laurent told the story to the security guards and how he had locked Mathe inside, having run around to the field exit in order to fully secure the room. Aimeric gave his statement. Then Mathe was freed and denied everything when questioned. At which point Laurent pulled out his phone to show he had video evidence of some of the assault. Mathe was taken off-campus in handcuffs. 

“What’s with you and taking away all my ‘suitors’ in handcuffs?” Aimeric asked with an arm around Laurent’s shoulders using him as a crutch on their way back to the dorms.

“You seem to think people only pay attention to me, but so far no one has tried to rape me this year,” Laurent said.

“There’s still time. But I remember you calling me damaged and that predators can sense that,” Aimeric said out of breath and wincing with every step.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said.

“How long did you wait before coming to the rescue?” Aimeric asked.

“Seven seconds of filming to make sure there was enough evidence to have him taken away.”

“You’re fucking maniacal.”

“He’s been bothering you for quite a while, I thought you’d like it taken care of. He is the reason your knee is busted, right?”

“Yeah, but filming him groping me isn’t really how I planned on dealing with it,” Aimeric said.

“Were you going to use your fists to solve your problems like you always do?”

“He’s graduating in a few months. I just had to endure it.”

“Endure a few rapes here and there?” Laurent said sarcastically.

“It may have only taken one.”

“You’re fucked up,” Laurent said and Aimeric could feel the weight of the cold blue eyes. He thought of reminding Laurent that he had done the same thing by taking Nicaise’s place for as long as possible but didn’t think either of them wanted the conversation to turn in that direction.

“Yeah,” Aimeric agreed. “But you technically have child porn on your phone, so you are too.”

“Fair.”

-

Aimeric scratched at his skin. Most of his forearm was bandaged with white gauze.

“Stop.” Laurent caught his hand and Aimeric jerked free. “You’re not going to have any skin left.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“I agree with her. You should see a therapist.”

“Fuck off.”

“If you’re doing this go now,” Laurent said. Aimeric inhaled deeply and swung a leg off the motorcycle. Negating the fact that he’d had to cling to Laurent for the ride, the trip had been fun. Laurent had certainly spent a lot of time practicing and could keep the bike under control at high speeds. Aimeric wondered if horseback riding had any impact on motorcycle skills.

The police station was about what he had expected from TV shows and movies. Approaching the receptionist was difficult. The presence of the hacking device in his pocket held most of his attention. It felt huge, like a noticeable bulge and not the good kind.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist asked as Aimeric approached. 

“I have an appointment,” Aimeric said and gave his full name. This was true, Aimeric had been convinced to press charges against Mathe. He was directed to an empty office to wait for an officer. Immediately he texted Laurent that he was in. Aimeric was going to miss whatever the distraction was. 

The thumbs-up came in as a response and he didn’t immediately recognize the next emoji but understanding hit as the building shook with a _ boom _. Fireworks. That was supposed to be the signal to prompt Aimeric into action, but for a moment he sat there stunned. Had Laurent gotten the fireworks for this purpose? How far had he planned this out?

Fury rose in him unexpectedly.

Had Laurent gone to the lacrosse games for Aimeric, or because he suspected Mathe would try to rape him? Was the entirety of this planned out with Laurent just using Aimeric as a pawn to get what he wanted? 

Another firework went off. 

Fuck Laurent. 

Aimeric stood and almost left, but it was the memory of Auguste that made him continue. He went to the other side of the computer and inserted the pineapple into the USB port via a long cord and hid the small device underneath the desk with the other wires. This gadget was the easiest to use and potentially the most dangerous. Laurent was reluctant to hand it over and Aimeric had only used it once to show Laurent he knew how to set it up. Once operational, any device that connected to the WIFI network would be vulnerable to exploitation, VPN, or not. There had been a trial run on the system attached to their dorm and when it was set up every administration computer, student laptop, and smartphone was accessible through the pineapple. 

Another explosion. 

He hesitated, looking down at the messages between him and Laurent. He was still pissed. It took effort to hit send on another thumbs-up emoji. Once Laurent had access to the system the footage from the security camera of Aimeric tampering with the computer would be erased, it would look like he sat down to wait for the officer and then got up and left after the first firework went off. 

After some of the confusion had worn off Aimeric rescheduled his meeting at the front desk and left. Laurent was outside straddling the motorcycle and looking pleased. Aimeric wanted to punch him off the dumb bike. He had planned on waiting until they were back at the dorms to unleash his grievances but something about the proud expression lit the short fuse.

"Have you been using me?" Aimeric asked not bothering to keep his voice at an acceptable volume.

"Yes— we discussed your interest in helping me," Laurent said, clearly puzzled by the outburst.

"How much of this did you have planned out?" Aimeric demanded. 

"We— planned this together," he said slowly, still confused.

"Did you only go to my lacrosse games because you thought I would be raped, and you could use that in your plan?" 

"No, I thought it was a possibility, the fact that I utilized it came after it happened, and you had a reason to be in a police station." Laurent’s calm confusion was pissing Aimeric off. He was usually cool and collected while Aimeric shouted but it was a calculated calm with the purpose of making Aimeric angrier.

"That's a little cold," Aimeric said with hostility

Laurent's face smoothed, “You agreed to it. Would you prefer I hadn't gone to the games?"

"I don't care, you were never there just for me." This was the root of the problem and they both recognized it once it was spoken out loud.

"You're making me the villain, but my intentions were not sinister," Laurent said.

"You didn't start going to lacrosse ‘just because’. You always have reasons and motivations."

"Why can't my motivation be that I didn't want you to get hurt?"

"Because you’re not that nice and everything just fit too perfectly into your plan."

"You give me too much credit," Laurent said. "Can we continue this at the dorms?" He was still calm, almost sympathetic. Aimeric was scratching at his arm and even when he became aware of it didn't stop. He was also embarrassed that he had accidentally admitted to wanting Laurent's attention.

"I'll take an Uber," he said coldly.

"Aimeric—" Laurent tried again.

"Just leave." He turned his back and after a moment heard the motorcycle start then peel off.

Aimeric didn't immediately call a ride. If he went home, he would be asked about the meeting. His dad hadn’t wanted him to file a report or be anywhere near a police station and he really didn’t feel like having that fight. If he went back to the dorms he'd have to deal with Laurent. He tried a few different friends to find someone to hang out with, but the weekend was starting, and everyone already had plans. Oddly, the more time he spent with Laurent the less he was invited out. Unattainable and highly desired but not actually wanted. 

He shook his head and scratched at his arm, he wasn't going to feel sympathy for Laurent right now. When he got tired of wandering around by himself he finally called a ride to take him back to the school. With headphones in and a quiet driver, the anger began to wane. Reluctantly he began to admit to himself that he probably overreacted. For someone who kept mostly to himself and lived in his head, Laurent was decently socially competent in everyday social situations but anywhere he didn’t already have applicable experience, he would fumble, uncertain how to react. 

Laurent hadn't orchestrated the events against Aimeric, he should be more to blame for placing himself in vulnerable situations. Of course, Laurent had filmed the attack with Mathe rather than immediately rescuing him. It was probably something a sociopath would do, but the footage had kept Mathe from returning to campus. Laurent had taken advantage of the situation and was using it to his benefit. Logically, Aimeric couldn't begrudge him of the ingenuity. 

Aimeric still wanted to punch him, and once he returned to campus he went to the gym instead of the dorms. The lacrosse coach had recently used his own money to buy the boys a heavyweight punching bag and it was already worn from excessive use.

It was late when Aimeric went back to the dorms. He had hoped to return after Laurent's bedtime, but Laurent had seemingly waited up for him. He was curled up on his bed with a book, wearing a white undershirt and joggers. As Aimeric entered Laurent closed the book and looked ready to speak.

"Don't—" Aimeric cut him off. "I think I— I overreacted." Aimeric paused, saying he was sorry wasn't going to be easy.

"I was actually going to apologize," Laurent said carefully. "Your outburst was warranted. I didn't consider how the trauma might still be affecting you and it was unfair of me to try and profit from that."

"Well, look at us being mature," Aimeric said.

"Perhaps the RA won't need the ER on speed dial anymore," Laurent said.

"And then you say something sarcastic and ruin whatever moment we could have had," Aimeric said, throwing himself back on his bed.

"I can try for something sentimental and mushy."

"No, the moments over. I don't want your pity mush," Aimeric said. "Was it at least successful?"

"Yes," Laurent said, beginning the process of settling into bed. "I know where the tape is. Now I just have to get it."

-

Aimeric wasn't a part of Laurent's stealth mission to recover the security camera footage from the night Auguste died. He had slowly been withdrawing from Laurent's life of secret missions and espionage to spend more time with his friends. Preferring going to clubs and parties to espionage. He did, however, pay attention to Laurent's activities and knew when he went to acquire the tape. Aimeric was still up when Laurent returned in the early dawn hours. It was possibly the most disorganized Aimeric had ever seen him. Overall, he was a little sticky from sweat with his flushed face and hair a mess from the motorcycle helmet. Most notable was the wild and manic flash in the blue eyes. He was riding on adrenaline and primitive survival instinct. 

"You look like hell," Aimeric told him. The blue eyes turned to him as he spoke, but they were empty and didn't focus. Aimeric followed Laurent to the desk as he pushed the disk into the computer.

"Do you want to do this now?" Aimeric asked unsure if Laurent was hearing him. There was no response. Like a zombie, he went through the motions of starting the video. The timestamp had been written on the disc case and Laurent queued it up and without any hesitation pressed play. 

"Laurent—" Aimeric said and felt like he was about to have a panic attack. He wasn't prepared to watch Auguste's death but Laurent had seemed to shut off his emotions and was continuing without any thought on how this was going to affect him later. The video was playing, and they both watched the silent action scene play out in low resolution. It took a moment for Aimeric to find the blond head in the group of men, it was a richer shade than Laurent's pale color and the footage didn’t do it justice. 

For a few frantic heartbeats, nothing happened. Both sides were talking and it looked as it was supposed to, a parley between the groups. Then guns were drawn and little disorienting sparks lit up across the screen from muzzle flashes. Auguste moved to the corner of the building, going for cover. They both jumped when he jerked and fell out of view. The shootout continued until the sides had dispersed. Auguste's lower half was still in frame and he laid there alone as minutes passed. No one had stopped to check on him and no one came back for him. 

The video continued. 

Each minute passed with agony as Auguste was forgotten. After ten minutes of the terrible silence, Laurent hit the fast-forward button and they watched hours pass. EMS arrived nearly eight hours later. For only a second Auguste was fully in frame when he was zipped into a body bag. Aimeric had inhaled sharply. Even at a low resolution, the head wound was grizzly and Auguste was almost unrecognizable. 

It was why the funeral had been closed casket. Aimeric had been only twelve but clearly remembered Laurent, in a black suit, place a small hand on the white coffin and linger there too long. Forcing the line of people behind him to pause and wait. At the time Aimeric had expected tears on Laurent's face but it was almost devoid of expression when he looked up as his uncle took his hand to lead him away.

It was the same now. Laurent was very still with a blank expression, eyes stuck to the screen. The continued silence was torture but Aimeric didn't want to break first.

Then Laurent restarted the video and seemed intent on watching it again. 

"Laurent, don't." Aimeric stopped him from pressing play with a hand over his on the mouse.

Laurent's eyes were like ice when they turned on him, "If you can't stomach it you don't have to watch."

"I don't want _you _to watch," Aimeric said it clearly. This was undoubtedly going to fuck with Laurent. Aimeric himself felt a little nauseated

“I’ll become desensitized eventually,” Laurent said it blankly, already suppressing his emotions.

“Do you actually want that?” Aimeric asked. Laurent didn’t answer and pulled his hand free of Aimeric’s to press play. They watched it again and again. 

Aimeric wasn't becoming desensitized. He looked away every time Auguste was shot. Laurent kept his gaze firmly on the screen watching everything. By this point, they had both been up for twenty-four hours and the cafeteria was about to stop serving breakfast. Without speaking Aimeric pulled Laurent out of his seat and towards the door. Laurent didn’t fight him, he was past the point of numb and reaching catatonic.

"We're taking a break," Aimeric said and grabbed his jacket on the way out. He wasn't sure either of them would be able to eat but he would lose his mind if he had to watch that video again.

It was just about the only thing Laurent did for the next week. Every frame, pixel by pixel, he had watched it repeatedly and occasionally made Aimeric watch it with him saying something like "Is this person reaching for a gun?" or "Does this look like a signal?" and then "I can't make this out what does it look like to you?"

On the wall were printed images of faces as Laurent was figuring out each person who had been present. Both Veretians and Akielons were featured and lined up to show their positions as they were in the video. Some had strings connecting them with sticky notes placed sporadically about. Aimeric had never seen a crazy person conspiracy board outside of movies and TV shows. 

Nothing definitive was coming from the obsession. The quality was too shitty and unlike in cop dramas, it couldn't be enhanced. Laurent wasn't leaving the room for anything that wasn't a necessity, and food didn't seem to count. Only classes and taking care of his horse would force him outside. Aimeric had initially been bringing meals back to the dorm but decided he wasn’t going to support the deranged obsession. Not that Laurent ate what was brought to him anyway. He wasn't sleeping much either, Aimeric could hear him restlessly moving all night. When their schedules aligned Aimeric made Laurent go to a meal with him. The situation reminded Aimeric of having a pet, making sure it was fed, and walked once a day. His very own zombie.

It was surprisingly easy to get Laurent up early one morning and make him go jogging, he probably hadn’t even been sleeping. Aimeric usually met up with teammates for a lap around campus but he diverted from the normal route to run with Laurent. It took a few days of pushing Laurent to physical exhaustion, but eventually, he began to sleep through the night. Slowly Laurent revived and his ambitious nature began to rise making jogging a competitive sport.

Easter was the final key in reminding Laurent where his attention should be focused. Together they rode home on the motorcycle and being on the bike seemed to rejuvenate Laurent and the trip was easy, even enjoyable. Aimeric still had to listen to his mom complain about the tiny deathtrap and that when one of them hit a growth spurt they would no longer both fit on the bike.

Nicaise could be trusted to wear Laurent out better than Aimeric ever could and over the weekend he slept more than he had the past week. It also seemed to change his perspective and finding Auguste's killer became a side hobby. Seeing Nicaise again had likely reminded him that his priorities should be with the living. Aimeric had also used the opportunity to discreetly discover Laurent's birthday. Laurent had remembered his, and Laurent needed a new motorcycle helmet. He had picked out a matte black full-face style with a dark reflective visor. It had been hiding under his bed for a while and he half suspected Laurent already knew it was there.

-

"Is it a cliché to not see the appeal?" Laurent asked with arms crossed.

"It's a cliché no matter your perspective,” Aimeric said. He was eyeing Laurent trying to look at him without his noticing. Aimeric had never seen him in a three-piece suit. It was dark blue and while it obviously looked good on him, complimenting his slender frame, it wasn’t flattering to his light complexion. Aimeric had picked a light grey pinstripe suit but had nixed the tie and jacket. The light colors enhanced what was left of his spring break tan. The sleeves of the white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows for a relaxed look. He continued to eye Laurent and began to think that he looked better in his suit despite the vest being a little tight on his chest. The earrings, however, seemed to look better on the blond. The sapphire gems matched the suit and made his eyes glow. Aimeric had picked diamond ones to match the suit rather than attempting to find a gem flattering to his dark eyes.

“If you wanted to go to prom why didn’t you just take a date?” Laurent asked.

“What do you think _you_ are? Remember the school thinks we’re together.”

“This isn’t a very nice thing to do to your boyfriend,” Laurent said irritably.

“You agreed to come, don’t get grouchy now,” Aimeric told him. Laurent didn’t respond, absently twisting an earring in the freshly pierced ear. "I didn't expect you to go through with it," Aimeric commented.

"I lost the bet," Laurent said, still twirling the gem. Aimeric hadn't wanted to get his ears pierced alone and had goaded Laurent into betting on the lacrosse game. The losing streak had continued with Mathe's absence. The boys were playing better as a team but despite his faults, Mathe had been a powerful asset. Laurent had continued to go to the home games and Aimeric had thought it was only to prove that he hadn't gone to the previous ones in case he needed to stop an assault. He had eventually admitted, in an off-topic remark, that the games could be entertaining. Aimeric hoped that didn't mean Laurent would attempt to join the team.

"Yeah, but I didn't tell you the school we were playing never wins."

"I could have done a modicum of research and discovered that for myself."

"I guess. I just expected you to call foul and bow out."

"It could come in useful."

"How? Are you going to use earrings as a disguise?" Aimeric asked.

"A lot of the boys have piercings. They could be used to blend in."

"Most of the ones doing it are using it as a club look. I can't imagine you going undercover at a club."

"Better to be prepared," Laurent said. Aimeric was running out of ways to keep the conversation going. Laurent was closed off and announced that with folded arms. Aimeric was beginning to feel like a wallflower on the sidelines next to him with his cold stare keeping everyone at a distance.

“You— wanna dance?” Aimeric asked.

“No.”

Aimeric huffed out a sigh. Before he could think of an argument or a way to start another conversation he was approached by one of the juniors from lacrosse and asked to dance. Proving that not everyone was intimidated by Laurent’s cold aura. 

He accepted the offered hand and glanced at Laurent. "I'll be back. Don't drink the punch. Or actually, do."

The lacrosse team was a lot more tolerable without Mathe’s negative influence and Aimeric enjoyed the attention from the upperclassmen. Initially, he had been concerned that his involvement with Mathe getting kicked off the team would bring him resentment but the majority were also glad to see him gone and that offered protection from the small group of Mathe's friends. 

Most of the school was in attendance and the gymnasium was crowded. Some girls from the sister school had attended, as well as girlfriends but the majority of the occupants were boys both from the school and outside boyfriends. The crowd had a good energy and Aimeric was enjoying himself but remembering that Laurent was somewhere by himself weighed on him. 

“The music is annoying,” Laurent commented as Aimeric found him by himself leaning against a wall. It sounded like the beginning of an excuse to leave the dance. The music had been selected from mostly older decades, Aimeric wasn't a fan of disco either.

“So change it,” Aimeric said. It took Laurent a moment to understand and then one of those golden eyebrows lifted and he nearly smiled. 

They sat off to the side, Aimeric looking over Laurent’s shoulder as he typed on his laptop. There was a pineapple set up somewhere on campus and it was easy for Laurent to find the DJ’s connection and change the music by connecting one of Aimeric’s Spotify playlists. His taste in music was more contemporary than Laurent’s and the crowd reacted approvingly to the new music.

“Now will you dance?” Aimeric asked.

That almost smile was still present as Laurent said, “No.”

Aimeric was back with the lacrosse team and Laurent was talking to some associates in a corner. Two of them Aimeric recognized from the chess team and Laurent was probably as happy as he was going to get at a public event. 

Finally, the announcement came reminding everyone who the prom king nominees were. Aimeric watched Laurent go still as his name was mentioned with the other nominees. It had been an impulsive decision to nominate Laurent and the look of murder in those blue eyes had been worth the joke. The ballot box was at the other end of the room with another half an hour left of voting. It wasn’t unheard of to have a King and Queen but typically, being an all-boys school, there were two Kings elected. Aimeric didn’t expect Laurent to win, most of the other nominees were couples and had been campaigning.

Aimeric couldn’t keep from grinning as he approached Laurent, “Still not going to dance with me?” He wasn’t the only one nearby, some of the lacrosse team had followed him over and others had come by to talk to Laurent about the nomination. 

“Aw, you won’t dance with him?” Someone asked.

“I suppose you think you’re funny,” Laurent said, ignoring the small crowd.

“Yes, I do,” Aimeric said as Laurent continued his death glare. “Are you not going to dance at all?”

“Not unless I’m forced to.”

Some of the boys reacted to this comment and tried to peer pressure Laurent into dancing with Aimeric. Laurent was not going to be pressured into anything, but he had made a miscalculation.

Thirty minutes later the vice-principal took the microphone to announce the winners. Aimeric laughed when Laurent’s name was announced and then choked after hearing his own name. He was slapped on the back by the lacrosse team and recovered from the surprise in time to catch Laurent’s arm to keep him from bolting. He linked arms with Laurent and led him to the stage. It gave Laurent time to compose himself and was outwardly poised when one of the crowns was placed on his blond head. Aimeric grinned realizing what had happened as he also received a crown while the onlookers applauded. The King’s dance was announced and Aimeric held out a hand. He heard Laurent’s teeth grind together as he accepted the offered hand and they left the stage to step onto the dance floor. 

“First time I’ve seen you tactically outmaneuvered,” Aimeric said and placed his hands on Laurent’s waist. Initially, Laurent tensed but seeing the wisdom in embracing the moment slid closer, casually draping his elbows over Aimeric’s shoulders. 

Amusement began to tug on his mouth. “You got me,” Laurent said and looked up with a considering and appreciative look. “Your random pranks finally caught me off guard.” Usually the only times Aimeric was this close to Laurent was during a physical fight and him smiling with so little space between them was somehow unnerving. 

“Sure, it’s like fifty to one now or something? Although, technically you brought this on yourself. I just wanted to get your ass on the dancefloor, not do a couples slow dance.” He could feel Laurent moving beneath his hands as they swayed slowly, both putting in minimal effort into the dance. 

“I wonder if ‘Prom King’ would be a good addition to the achievements list on my Harvard application,” Laurent said ruefully.

“I think what you mean to say is: ‘thank you for giving me something to add to my application that proves I’m not a loner and have a horse for a best friend’.”

“I will word it exactly like that,” Laurent said.

“Kind of surprised you aren’t pissed off,” Aimeric said.

“I am— or I was. As you said, we’re maturing.” 

“Or you realized fighting me here isn’t worth risking expulsion.”

“Either way,” Laurent said, “It has been an interesting year.”

“Well, not that I regret the experience, at times it was actually fun, but I think we should only call each other roommates for two more weeks,” Aimeric said. He was almost sad that his time with Laurent was coming to an end, not that he would ever admit that.

“Agreed. But we’ll still call each other friends," Laurent said.

Aimeric grinned, "Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler, but not really, they're roommates again.


	21. Chapter 21

Mercifully Laurent had slept. Damen had barely managed a few hours, woken intermittently by Laurent’s dreams. He was still asleep, resting on Damen’s chest. The shirt beneath his face was damp from tears shed in sleep. Damen wanted to move and stretch but also wanted privacy to think. It was difficult not to touch Laurent admiringly, his hair a golden puddle beneath his head and matching lashes fluttering with another dream. Damen had things to think about other than Laurent’s agitated unconscious. More awake now than he had been from drifting restlessly in and out of sleep all night, his body began to hurt from the cramped position. 

The windows of the car had frosted, and the outside wind could be heard berating the trees. It was chilly inside the cab, Damen’s toes were cold despite the socks and boots.

Without realizing it he had begun to absently stroke the blond hair as he thought and Laurent stopped fidgeting from whatever dream or nightmare had disturbed him. Damen wanted Laurent to wake so he could move and relieve the aches in his muscles, but if Laurent was experiencing any kind of peace Damen wasn’t going to disrupt that. There was also the impending conversation that needed to be held but Damen wasn’t sure he would like the outcome. A day ago, they had the same goal, but a lot had changed, and he couldn’t predict what Laurent would do.

Laurent shifted, diverting Damen’s attention. All of the mixed feelings reached a peak when the blond head lifted, and the blue eyes wandered the interior of the car until they found Damen’s face.

“Hi,” Damen said carefully and moved them both so he could sit up. Still drowsy, Laurent allowed himself to be lifted and repositioned. Damen stretched and a few muscles threatened to cramp, he groaned half pain, half relief. 

“You could have woken me sooner,” Laurent said watching him. He had picked up a water bottle and rewrapped himself in the sleeping bag.

“I didn’t want to,” Damen said, “You aren’t very heavy.” He knew very well that Laurent was underweight. “Are you hungry?” Damen asked.

“There are snacks in here.”

“We need something more substantial,” Damen said. Laurent raised an eyebrow when Damen took Laurent’s phone from his pocket and input his password. The battery was nearly dead but held out long enough for Damen to find an interstate diner not far from their campsite.

-

“Better than energy bars and dried fruit?” Damen asked. Laurent held his third cup of coffee against his mouth, gaze directed warily out the window. The sunlight poured in brightening the blue of his eyes to an icy color and accentuating the red crescents beneath his eyes.

“Yes,” Laurent agreed absently. The risk of being out in the open kept both of them alert. Damen’s attention was focused on the mostly empty diner.

He ordered another plate of eggs and toast while Laurent got more coffee. Maybe it was the overindulgence in caffeine or the semblance of normalcy, but Laurent seemed to be thinking. Closed off and pensive, he had barely spoken but was behaving almost like himself. 

In the silence, Damen began to daydream. This time yesterday they were in the shower together, he could still remember the feel of Laurent’s skin. All of that seemed distant, like a fever dream, Damen almost couldn’t imagine reaching over to touch him now while all of his defenses were in place.

Eventually, Damen switched to just water while Laurent stayed with coffee, diluting it with milk. Damen lost track of how many cups he’d had. The outlet beneath the table was utilized and they waited for the phone and tablet to charge as the silence continued. The responsibility of lookout had fallen entirely to Damen, with Laurent staring vacantly out the window, enveloped in his own thoughts. More than an hour passed this way with looks of annoyance from the waitstaff. Eventually, Damen ordered lunch just to placate them. Laurent returned to reality to steal most of his fries. Laurent’s attention had turned towards the tablet and poked at it distractedly.

“How is it going?” Damen asked.

“How’s what going?” Laurent blinked as his gaze left the screen to focus on Damen.

“Your planning.”

Laurent didn’t reply right away, and Damen thought he had gotten lost in his head again until he began to speak haltingly, "My reasons to hurry through this mission have diminished. I have obviously done something to incur this backlash so while it seems bleak this isn't checkmate nor is it likely even check. However—" Laurent paused, “I think— a small retreat is necessary.” It seemed hard for him to admit this. 

"What does a retreat look like?" Damen asked.

"There is someone who has offered me refuge. A friend of my parents. I was saving the option for a dire situation but with the changing seasons it may force me to use it now."

"Where does this person live?"

"Within the city. I'm sure he can accommodate both of us," Laurent said this as a statement but his expression was hesitant and searching. After everything that had happened Laurent was questioning if Damen wanted to continue with him. Laurent's small confession from the night before, admitting he was glad Damen was still with him, seemed to hold true for this more steady version.

"I am concerned—" Damen began and hesitated with Laurent's gaze focused on him. He wanted to be straightforward and honest. "Knowing what kind of man the Veretian Don is, I feel responsible for knowing that my brother has endangered people I care about with this alliance. If you don’t want to continue your mission I think I would have to go on without you."

"Simply to alleviate your conscience?" Laurent asked. The afternoon sunlight continued to color his eyes an icy blue and Damen now had their full attention. He managed to look elegant even with the dark circles, bruised cheek, and bandaged knuckles. His skin looked soft but the sharp eyes kept any hands that would touch at a distance.

"Because it's what's right," Damen said.

"That's a very simple perspective."

"Does it need to be more complicated?"

"No, I suppose not," Laurent said and searched Damen's face. He was very serious as he said, "Parts of my motivation may have changed but my intent has not."

"I am sorry," Damen said. 

Laurent straightened, eyes dropping to his mug. “I assume my answer mitigates your doubts.” Laurent ignored Damen’s condolences. 

“Yes,” Damen said, but wasn’t going to be distracted, “What will happen to Aimeric?” They had last seen him shoved into the back of a car, his lower face smeared with blood.

"Aimeric—" Laurent said carefully, "is a wild card. I want to trust him but he's afraid of his father which means his loyalty is tenuous. I think he is aware of this though and doesn’t ask for details involving my operations so he can't be used to betray me."

“Are you worried about him?”

"Aimeric is used to taking a hit," Laurent said. He was offering simple emotionless responses but had a white-knuckled grip on his cup.

"Would his dad let him be hurt?" Damen asked, choosing his questions carefully.

"Yes," Laurent said simply, his gaze cast down, "Guion has previously sacrificed the well being of his youngest son to attain his Capo ranking. I am— concerned for Aimeric, but I don't think he is in mortal danger." The blue eyes drifted towards the window again.

Damen let the silence lengthen, giving Laurent a few moments to compose himself. Damen had mostly only seen Laurent and Aimeric fighting, verbally and physically, but had also witnessed how easy they had been together. They weren’t especially friendly, but it was clear there was a level of trust that came more from adversity than simple familiarity. It had made Damen a little jealous, wanting a similar intimacy with Laurent.

“What is this address?” Laurent asked and held up his phone for Damen to see. It was the location Damen had texted Jord last night.

“A repair shop. Your motorcycle should be finished if you want to pick it up before going to your safehouse.”

Laurent didn’t respond, scrolling through the previous messages. He dropped the phone and his eyes turned back towards the window. There was more expression now, a wrinkle between the brows, as he was actively thinking. The frustration was a nice contrast to the bleak and somber stare. However, Damen’s patience was not endless and sitting and waiting for Laurent to think was wearing on him. He needed action. 

“What’s wrong?” Damen asked.

“Maybe nothing,” Laurent said dismissively. Damen had been shut out again, exiled to the outside of Laurent’s shields. "If there's nothing hindering us further I'll contact my parent's friend and make arrangements." Laurent slid out of the booth and stepped outside to make his call. 

Damen was left with the bill. He paid and met Laurent outside. With the phone to his ear, Laurent waved Damen off. He settled into the car to wait. Laurent made more than one phone call. He paced, agitation clear in the fidgety way he moved. Too much caffeine in his system. Damen turned the heat up in the car wondering how Laurent wasn’t cold in just the shirt and cardigan. The radio predicted a snowstorm for that evening.

“Are we going to get the motorcycle?” Damen asked when Laurent slipped into the passenger seat.

Laurent hesitated, “Might as well.” The response was odd but Damen didn’t expect to get a clearer response. He was already irritated that Laurent was keeping him out of the loop.

The black bike sat outside the shop on the gravel parking lot. It was still scarred from the accident, the paint job on the left side scratched and handlebar marred. Laurent left the Toyota to look at the bike while Damen exited a little slower, surveying the area. 

It was a small mechanic shop on the outskirts of town specializing in smaller vehicles like ATV's, dirt bikes, and occasionally motorcycles. Even though the shop was out of the way Damen was used to seeing it busier. He recognized the owner as he stepped out of the shop with a rag in hand. Damen waved, still several yards away. The owner nodded in return and with his hand hidden behind the cloth, pointed towards the corner of the building. 

Damen stopped walking. The Glock from the rookie cop was tucked into the back of his jeans. If they were being watched he couldn't reach for it without possibly being shot.

"Laurent," he said calmly. When Laurent turned, Damen tried to convey silently that something was wrong. It took a few seconds before understanding lifted the golden brows and Damen shifted his eyes in the direction the mechanic had pointed. Laurent had reached the motorcycle and Damen hesitated several paces away from the shop entrance. He couldn’t approach Laurent, the two of them together would create a larger target, returning to the car could be perceived as him going to retrieve a weapon. 

Damen walked towards his friend and the shop. From his peripheral, he could see Laurent had moved to the other side of the motorcycle and if necessary could use it as a shield. Damen shook his friend's hand and went through the routine of small talk while he stayed on alert, resisting the impulse to look to the left where a potential threat might be waiting.

The motorcycle engine roared to life and Damen startled half reaching for the gun. Laurent spun the bike, spraying gravel, and took off down the road. The bike screamed as it rapidly accelerated. Damen was so surprised he nearly failed to react when Veretians turned the corner. The unmistakable deadly threat of black machine guns in hand. Shots were ripped off at Laurent's retreating form. The gun spewing bullets in a deafening cacophony. The distraction gave Damen a few needed seconds to push his friend back into the cover of the building. If the trigger happy Veretian had turned the gun towards them they would have been cut in half. The Glock was instinctively in hand as Damen’s back hit the wall but was virtually useless against the automated weapons. 

"Damianos," a voice called out. "Is there really any reason in prolonging the inevitable? If this turns into a gunfight you're risking the safety of the people in this establishment." The voice was familiar but Damen couldn't recall ever hearing it before.

Damen didn't move. Was it even conceivable that he could reach the Toyota to escape?

Panic was beginning to settle in his stomach. It was beginning to sink in that Laurent was gone and probably not coming back. Getting out while he could was the smart but ruthless choice.

The voice called out to him again, "There is no need to make this difficult, we mean you no harm. The Don would like to speak to you."

There was a flickering memory from weeks ago with Laurent telling him that Damen himself had been a part of the trade agreement and if things had been different he would have been delivered to the Veretian Don. Laurent had not specified whether that meant dead or alive. 

Damen stayed where he was. Experience had taught him that Veretians were untrustworthy, they had pulled guns in the middle of a parley, had not honored territories, tricked Akielon teens into using drugs, and Laurent had left.

That last thought cut deep and did nothing to strengthen his resolve to fight. Movement caught his eye and he glanced through the glass door into the interior of the shop where employees were cowering behind a desk. He couldn’t risk casualties.

Heart pounding wildly, Damen shouted, "I'm coming out." Gently he set the Glock on the ground and with hands behind his head stepped out of hiding. 

In the open, only the cold breeze hit him and he realized he had closed his eyes expecting to be shot down. Veretians approached, guns ready. Roughly his arms were tugged behind his back and secured with handcuffs. That was a personal relief. He could escape most cuffs given time and they wouldn't need to restrain him just to put a bullet in his head.

The man who had been speaking approached, more nicely dressed than the others, Damen noticed his hands heavy with gold rings. It identified him as a Veretian Capo. They were known to wear thick, sometimes spiked, rings and used them like brass knuckles.

"Who are you?" Damen asked.

"We've previously met, but at the time you were not quite yourself."

This was Guion. 

"I was drugged, you mean," Damen said.

"Yes, it's a much easier task to deal with someone of your size when they are _ docile _. However, this time the Don would like you to be lucid so we have to take other precautions." 

A hood was pulled over Damen's head rendering him blind. He was pushed out of the frigid air and into the warm backseat of a car. People were nearby. He could hear them breathing and there was undoubtedly more than one gun pointed in his direction. He doubted anyone would shoot him in the backseat of a car. He readjusted and was grumbled at when his knee bumped into someone. They hadn't searched him. There was a gun in an ankle holster and a knife in a pocket as well as his multi-tool.

He should have been thinking of ways to escape but Laurent peeling out on the motorcycle kept replaying in his head. Laurent had done this before, and he had come back. At that point though, Damen had barely known him a full day. He hadn’t expected the Laurent he knew now to abandon him without saying anything. It hurt. 

The ride felt like an hour despite Damen's inability to stay focused and count for any longer than a few minutes. They had really gone out of their way to wait for them at the repair shop.

A gun was pressed to Damen's back when he was told to exit the vehicle. It wasn't the first time he'd had to maneuver out of a car blindfolded and handcuffed but it didn't make it easier. No one helped him when he stumbled but was prodded and sworn at until he regained his footing. After being pushed down endless hallways and turns he was sat in what felt like a desk chair. It rolled beneath his weight. When the hood was not immediately removed, Damen began to fidget. If he could get to the multi-tool in his pocket the handcuffs would be easy to escape. 

A door closed behind him and after a muffled conversation a voice said, "Remove the hood from our guest's head and uncuff him. This is a business meeting, not a hostage situation."

The hood was pulled roughly from Damen's head and he squinted as his eyes adjusted. It was not the room Damen had expected. They were in a control tower, surrounded by security camera monitors, each showing different images. Many of them were interior cameras letting Damen know this was some type of warehouse. The monitors had initially caught his attention by the sheer number as well as the movement in the screens. His instincts reminded him to check his surroundings and he found a familiar set of blue eyes. The only physical resemblance between uncle and nephew. 

"I apologize for the rough treatment, this was meant to be handled differently." It was the first time Damen had seen the Veretian Don in person. From the image Laurent had painted, Damen had expected a villainess appearance. This man was well-groomed with greying hair at his temples, a neatly trimmed beard, and wearing an expensive Italian suit. His smile, with even white teeth, was disarming.

The Don extended a hand, smile still in place, "You can call me L.R., I'm glad we've finally been given this opportunity to talk."

Damen accepted the handshake, "Do you typically greet 'guests' with Uzis?"

"Precautions often need to be made. You've met my nephew, he has been known to carry light explosives and can be unpredictable. I find it best to give my men protection. You are also a leader so I'm sure you understand the necessity of protecting your people.”

“Why have I been hearing of Veretian mercenaries in Akielon territory?” Damen asked.

“Simple precautions, as I said, protecting those you would consider family is a priority, something that wouldn’t be necessary if your brother Kastor was better at leading. As much as I would like for this alliance to go smoothly there were bound to be some rough spots, and unfortunately, some of them could have been prevented. You know that saying about hindsight.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology for asking for me as a part of the trade agreement?” Damen asked. It was difficult to dislike the Don, he was well-spoken and polite with an easy command of the room.

“You think you were a part of the deal for nefarious reasons?” The Don shook his head, “No, I wanted to help you out of a dangerous situation. Your brother and power-hungry girlfriend may have done something foolish and had you killed.”

“And that would have been inconvenient for you?” Damen asked.

“It has never been my intention to start a war, which I fear is where we are headed without better leadership. I believe you and I could do a lot of good together.”

“Co-leaders?” Damen asked, the implication of what was being said to him began to sink in.

“Something to that effect, yes.”

“Why would I—” Damen shook his head, finding himself at a loss for words. He wanted to rebel against what he was being told, but it made sense. The Akielons were struggling under Kastor and war was likely to break out. 

“I see that my nephew has painted me as a villain,” The Don said with a small sigh. “As I’ve said previously, Laurent doesn’t understand the nuances of leading. Occasionally difficult decisions have to be made and that doesn’t always make people like you.”

“What about Nicaise and Aimeric?”

"Aimeric is perfectly fine," the Don gestured to one of the monitors. It showed a small bare room where Aimeric lay on the floor tossing a small orange ball into the air. His mouth was swollen, lower lip busted and scabbed.

"His father has put him in temporary isolation."

"Shouldn't he be in school?" It was Monday. Damen recalled Laurent scolding Aimeric for doing his homework last minute Sunday evening. 

"I have no say over how Guion punishes his son."

"I want to talk to him," Damen said. Something seemed wrong about the scene, about Aimeric, but Damen couldn't decipher what it was.

"I can attempt to arrange that, but he isn't in this building so it will take time."

"Fine. What about Nicaise? I was with Laurent all weekend. He couldn't have murdered him."

"You are partly correct," the Don sat back in one of the other leather desk chairs. "Nicaise was instructed to take his own life. He attempted to hang himself but didn't have enough weight or force to break his neck after he jumped so he suffocated. Strangled." The Don stroked his beard, gaze to the side, the blue eyes a little glassy as he appeared genuinely distraught.

Damen felt ill, "And you think Laurent— told him to do that?"

"I have the exchange between them," L.R. reached over to one of the computers and pulled up a screenshot. Damen had seen the message board before and recognized it on the screen. He skimmed the messages and they confirmed what the Don said. "They weren’t aware I knew about their secret little forums. It seems my nephew will go to any lengths to discredit me."

"Did he also beat himself up?" Damen asked.

"No, it seems he picked a fight at school and then made the video to frame me. It may have worked, except I have a note from the principal and teachers regarding the incident as well as a record of detention for both him and the other student involved. Of course, there are also witnesses ready to corroborate this."

Damen was handed the papers with the dates at the top and signatures from the school. The evidence seemed legitimate but he continually flashed back to the broken mirror, pieces of glass in Laurent's fist, and his white face when told of Nicaise's death.

"Why would—" Damen shook his head at a loss for words. He couldn't balance this new information with what he knew of Laurent, they couldn't coexist.

"Why would he go this far just to try and frame me?" the Don asked, "I believe he blames me for Auguste's death, or believes I had a hand in it somehow. He has not been the same person since his brother was killed. I had to have him committed for a few months when he was thirteen. Not just for suicide watch but because he was making bizarre claims that I and other people were attempting to harm him. There was never an official diagnosis but I'm sure you've seen him behave recklessly or have something close to a manic episode. They tend to come about as fits of rage."

Damen couldn't keep his face neutral. The Don was calmly deconstructing his world and throwing everything he had known the past few weeks into doubt and uncertainty.

"I see you know what I'm talking about," he continued. "It was, after all, only a few hours ago that he abandoned you to save himself. That is unfortunately the behavior of someone selfish enough to have a child killed for revenge."

Damen didn't want to believe any of this. He shook his head, "Laurent has come back before."

"Perhaps under different circumstances, he may have risked himself to 'rescue' you, but I recently received an image from a street camera of Laurent going in the opposite direction." Again L.R. pulled up time-stamped evidence of Laurent on the black motorcycle racing through a red light somewhere in the city. "It's my understanding that you've had feelings for my nephew and I am sorry you've had to find out about his true nature this way."

Damen finally voiced his thoughts, "How can I believe any of this is true."

"You've only heard my nephew's side of things. Has he ever given a reason as to why he wants to destroy me?"

"Well, no—" Damen began.

"Then I have to ask that you reconsider what you think you know. Laurent needs help and perhaps you could make him see that." 

Dazedly Damen looked over the screens trying to process all of the new information. The one with Aimeric hadn't changed, he was in the same position tossing the ball to himself. 

"I can't believe Laurent would be capable of any of this," Damen said. Laurent had saved him on multiple occasions and risked his own life despite not owing Damen anything.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't matter if you believe it or not. As I said I understand you have feelings for him. I, of course, also only want the best for my nephew. He is the last of my family and I wish this animosity between us didn't exist and he would come home. Perhaps you can help me persuade him to end this pointless mission and we can get him the help he needs."

"He won't want anything to do with me if he thinks I've joined forces with you," Damen said and realized the truth of this as he spoke. "I can't betray him like that."

"It won't do any good to enable him. It will ultimately only do him more harm. Perhaps you and Aimeric together can convince him."

"You didn't want me here just to help Laurent," Damen stated.

"No, I did get off-topic," he paused to cross his legs, "I believe it would be for the benefit of the city to unite our two groups."

"Laurent wants to destroy the mobs."

"Does he? That would be a detriment to the economy. Many businesses rely on the income that our outside ventures bring in. Not to mention the numerous people who would lose their jobs. The animosity between the two groups would also still exist with less structure to control any prejudice and fights would occur as a result. No, the city relies on the Veretians and Akielons, and if we could unite to end the violence between us the city would prosper."

Damen had a hard time denying the wisdom of this. He folded his arms and remained silent. Did the Akielons trust him to the extent that they would agree to unite with the Veretians?

The Don spoke, “Your loyalty to Laurent is admirable, but the most my nephew knows of leadership is captain of the debate team. That's nothing compared to what you have a natural inclination for. It’s something I’m realizing your brother does not have an aptitude for. The Akielons prefer you and now I understand why.”

Damen still didn’t respond, keeping his arms crossed. It would be easier to keep the mobs intact and make changes than destroy them and take away the livelihood of many people. A lot of commerce and jobs relied on the two infrastructures. 

"I'll give you some time to think about it," the Don said standing. "I realize some of the revelations today were probably a little shocking and you need time to process."

"If I'm not a prisoner, I can leave, right?"

The Don smiled the same charming smile, "I believe you will be safer here. There's little chance you'd be able to reunite with Laurent as he probably has no intention of being found."

As if that were a cue, the electricity went out with a loud click and the room went black. The backup generator kicked on with a hum and the room was dimly illuminated, the lights given only a quarter of the power. A few of the monitors in the middle flickered back on and Damen realized these were the ones focused on the facility. Over half of the ones that remained dead were from outside sources including the one containing Aimeric. Movement in the center screens caught Damen's attention as a blond head skirted the edges of the frame, barely in view. He turned towards the Don who had also noticed and did not look pleased.

"Well then, let's go greet my nephew, shall we."

Damen wasn't restrained and with a flick from the Don’s hand the Veretian guards were dispatched. A little baffled at what was happening Damen followed the Don as he unhurriedly made his way a few doors down the hall. He carried a cane that Damen hadn't previously noticed and it struck the floor with an ominous rhythm echoing down the empty hallway. 

They were alone in the Don’s office. There was little decoration, the only furniture was the large oak desk and chair at the far end of the room. Damen stayed near the door, while the Don went to the desk and shuffled papers. The gun in the ankle holster was warm against Damen’s leg. It was an unthinkable opportunity and Damen almost couldn’t believe he was hesitating. The camera in the corner had caught his eye but no one had been in the control tower when they left. 

How would Laurent react to Damen killing his uncle?

Before he could decide to act, Laurent entered the room. Almost casually, as if the entire thing had been planned. Only Damen reacted in surprise to his sudden presence.

“Good evening, nephew,” the Don said without glancing up from his papers.

“Uncle,” Laurent replied and looked over the room, eyes skimming Damen. There was the silver glint of the Beretta held at thigh level.

“I’m glad something finally got through to you,” the Don said. “I’ve been filling in Damianos on your troubled past.”

The calm composure cracked a little as Laurent purposefully avoided Damen’s gaze, “Oh? What lies have you been telling him?” His voice came out smooth and unruffled.

“We simply discussed how to help you as your stay in the psych hospital seems to have done little for you.”

Laurent paled slightly, “I see, and were there any solutions?”

“I believe it would be best if you were to admit to your crimes and take responsibility for your actions.”

“I doubt taking responsibility for crimes I didn’t commit would do me any good.”

“You don’t have to continue to deny your guilt, we are aware that you told Nicaise to take his own life.”

“That I—” Laurent exhaled sharply, then laughed bitterly. “Of course,” he breathed. “Why not just destroy my two alibis and accuse me of doing it manually? It would be less messy to have me charged with first-degree murder that way.”

“That’s not necessary. Do you really believe Damianos would actually choose you over, the Akielons, his friends and family?”

“Aimeric—” Laurent began, still not looking at Damen.

“I know you think you formed some kind of bond with Aimeric, but he doesn’t do well with torture and is easily manipulated. You picked the wrong people to rely on, nephew.”

“Laurent,” Damen said, “Don’t listen to him.” 

Laurent ignored him, “It wouldn’t be like you to leave loose ends. You will kill your family, why not your Capo’s son?”

“Nephew, you can insinuate that I arranged Auguste’s death, as often as you’d like but it doesn’t make it true.”

“You don’t have to continue to deny your guilt in front of us,” Laurent said.

“You can accuse me all you want, but I’m not the one holding Auguste’s murder weapon,” the Don said. With an expression of puzzlement, Laurent looked down at the Beretta in his hand. The dread grew on his face as the words began to sink in. “Where did you acquire that weapon?” The Don asked, clearly already knowing where it had come from. 

Visibly Laurent attempted to collect himself, “The only thing known about the firearm is that it was a nine-millimeter.”

“Yes, we needed a means of _ coercion _and had Damen’s only nine-millimeter weapon tested for a bullet match months ago.” The Don approached Laurent handing him a piece of paper. “I believe the serial number matches.”

With the paper in one hand, Laurent turned the gun to confirm the match. “Easily forged,” he said, a wobble to his voice.

“Of course,” The Don agreed and handed Laurent another paper, “This is confirmation from a government lab on the other side of the country, where my influence has little meaning.” Damen could see from where he was that the paper was thick with a watermark that would be very difficult to replicate or forge.

Laurent finally looked at Damen, the blue eyes wide, “Did you know?”

“No, Laurent, I didn’t—” Damen took a step forward and the gun was pointed at him. Shocked, Damen froze. Reflexively his hands came up in the ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. Laurent realized what he had done and the gun wavered, lowering to Damen’s legs.

“This must be traumatic for you, nephew,” the Don placed a hand on Laurent’s shoulder making him flinch. “Can you trust someone who allowed you to carry around your brother’s murder weapon for weeks?” 

“Laurent.” Damen stepped forward but stopped as the gun lifted again to his abdomen. It was hard to look into the blue eyes, the frenzy of emotions too intense and raw.

“Did you come here just to rescue your brother’s killer?” The Don’s hands smoothed over Laurent’s hair and he shuddered. “How humiliating,” the Don continued, “Can you be certain he also didn’t betray you during his time here?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Damen said, taking another step forward.

“Stop—” Laurent breathed. It was unclear who he was talking to. The Beretta hadn’t lowered.

“So much emotion. How much did you give to this man?” The Don continued to pet Laurent, “Did you allow him to touch you?”

Damen carefully took another step with the gun still aimed at his abdomen. If he could get close enough he could take the gun from Laurent’s hands. “Don’t let him manipulate you,” Damen said carefully.

“How far did you go, nephew?” The Don spoke ignoring Damen. “Were you bedded by your brother’s murderer? Let him inside you?” He stroked Laurent’s hair. “You probably didn’t expect betraying your brother could be a pleasurable experience.” 

Laurent shuddered again and closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. Damen had seen him like this in the forest on the verge of panic. 

_ ‘I can’t think.’ _

“All of your hard work. Years of planning your revenge and now the murderer is in front of you.”

“Laurent,” Damen tried to stay calm but the desperation had crept into his voice.

“Are you not going to avenge your brother? And after he laid on the dirty street for hours. Abandoned.”

With Laurent’s eyes closed, Damen risked another step closer. He could easily disarm him if he could only take another two steps. The Don’s eerily familiar blue eyes were watching him closely.

Laurent’s expression was pained, eyes red-rimmed. It was an old wound that had never healed and the scab was being peeled off, leaving him raw and vulnerable. He was wounded and stressed, ready to lash out. Eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids. He was unpredictable. The gun shook in the two-handed grip but stayed on Damen, and he didn’t want to risk startling Laurent into pulling the trigger. 

Damen risked speaking, “It’s okay,” he said softly. “We can just leave, you don’t have to endure this.”

“Yes, leave with the man who killed your brother and allowed you to carry around the murder weapon.”

“Laurent.” Damen took another step. 

“Pathetic,” the Don said, eyes on Damen, “Auguste would not have allowed your killer to go unpunished. You can’t even live up to your brother’s standards. Perhaps it's a good thing he didn’t live to learn how his little brother turned out to be such a disappointment.”

“_Stop_,” Laurent choked. He fought hard to keep tears from falling but the first ones had dampened his eyelashes.

Damen took the last step.

The Don whispered, “_You failed him_.”

Damen touched the barrel. The blue eyes flew open. 

It hit like a gut punch. 

The sound was deafening. 

Laurent said, “_No_.” Voice lost in the ringing. 

Damen placed a hand over his stomach. Blood dampened his shirt. His legs buckled and he went to his knees. It hurt. He rolled to his back and stared at the swirling ceiling.

Laurent dropped with him. On his knees, beside Damen, he pulled Aimeric’s cardigan off his shoulders and pressed it to the wound. He trembled, eyes wide and face white. 

His words were breaking through, “I didn’t mean—”

From somewhere the Don’s bodyguards appeared and pulled Laurent to his feet, restraining his hands behind his back. Laurent was taken out of Damen’s sight.

“I told you he was unstable,” the Don said and took a knee next to Damen.

“Where are you taking him?” Damen’s voice was hoarse. 

“To be executed. I like the idea of a firing squad.”

“What happened to needing my help?”

“I believe you turned me down. Now I have Laurent ‘killing’ you on camera. What better gift of goodwill is there than to sacrifice my own nephew as retribution for his crimes against the Akielons? I was also here to know that your final wish was for there to be peace and cohesion.” 

Damen’s teeth ground together, “You manipulated him.” He wanted to stand and fight but found his body was unbearably heavy. The Beretta rested on the carpet a few feet away where Laurent had dropped it, but Damen didn’t have the stamina to reach out.

“Be happy knowing that you will receive a proper Akielon funeral and burial.” The cane struck the floor signaling the Don’s exit from the room.

Damen had been left alone to die. 

With great effort, he dragged himself to the desk where a landline sat. Laurent had cut the power and only the essentials were powered by the generator. Miraculously there was a dial tone. Damen’s fingers left a smear of blood on the keys as he dialed one of the few numbers he had memorized.

—

_ You failed him. _

Laurent’s head hurt. His wrists had already chafed from the metal cuffs. He had been left in an empty cell for nearly an hour but hadn’t tried to free himself. There was no point. Even if he’d had the skill to pick the lock there was no handle on his side of the door. 

There was no fight or resistance when his Uncle’s bodyguards came to collect him. The blindfold was a surprise. He knew they had stepped outside when the arctic air hit him like a slap. The oversized shirt ruffled against him. He shivered when left to stand alone, a wall to his back. His hands, restrained behind him, scraped against rough brick.

The clack of guns being loaded echoed in the space. His Uncle’s voice reached him distantly. It was a formal reading of his ‘crimes’. Laurent nearly laughed from surprise as realization hit. 

A public execution. Firing squad by the sound. His Uncle really would have him killed. 

“Ready.” The order was followed by harsh metallic clicks of weapons being primed. Laurent lifted his chin. The pulse in his ears was rabbit fast and nearly drowned out the commands.

“Aim.” There was shuffling as rifles were tucked into shoulders and adjusted. Beneath the blindfold Laurent waited, holding his breath, heart jumping painfully behind his ribs. At least it would be quick.

There was a disturbance. A clatter and a hissing sound. Men shouted. The bitter scent of chemicals burned Laurent’s nose. Footsteps crunched through gravel as someone charged towards him. Bullets hit the wall next to him.

Laurent dropped down. Sitting on the ground, he wrenched his shoulders and maneuvered his legs through the cuffs. With hands in front of him, he pulled at the blindfold. A hand caught his wrist, stopping him.

“Don’t. Teargas.” The voice was familiar and relief filled Laurent. “Pull your shirt over your nose and mouth,” Jord said. Laurent felt Jord’s arm wrap around him. “Stay close. I have a shield.” To prove this several scattered shots pinged off the metal. 

Laurent relied on Jord to lead him blindly along the wall. Bullets pelted the shield and wall around them. The smoke was penetrating the thin cotton forcing Laurent to hold his breath. They turned a corner and Laurent was released from Jord’s grip. He wasn’t prohibited from removing the blindfold and did so. His execution wall was just a wall, the building it used to be a part of had collapsed with only two sides remaining forming an L shape. Laurent placed a hand on the wall for support, coughing made his ribs hurt. Smoke had followed them and was creeping along the edges of the wall. Jord was protected by his gear, a gas mask covering his face.

“That’s the exit.” Jord pointed.

“Did you talk to—”

“Yes. Was this a part of your plan?” Jord removed his coat and draped it over Laurent’s shoulders. The arctic-like wind had brought snowflakes restlessly dancing in the air and a light blanket had covered the ground.

“No,” Laurent said, “Nothing has gone the way I wanted.” The wind pulled the smoke towards them and Jord nudged him away. 

“I’m going up there,” Jord said and Laurent followed his gaze and noticed a sniper overlooking the area waiting to cover the retreat. “Go.” 

There was a question that Laurent wanted to ask but instead, he turned. The cold air hurt his lungs as he stumbled through the rubble. The plan he had set up before leaving the diner had gone more than a little astray and it had been uncomfortably loose to begin with. He had expected for some things to go wrong with his Uncle involved but he hadn’t prepared for casualties. So much had gone wrong that Laurent was now uncomfortably off-script. 

-

The fog of pain that might have clouded Damen’s mind had been cleared away by anger. Jord had informed him that Laurent had known, or at the very least suspected, that there would be an ambush at the repair shop.

Before Damen collapsed he had called Nikandros. When asked how to find him Damen had told Nik to find a cop named Jord. Because Laurent had already involved him in some plan Damen knew nothing about, Jord had been tracking Laurent and had begun the process of forming a rescue. Nikandros contacted him in time to join as backup and let him know things had gone wrong. Unless shooting Damen had been a part of Laurent’s plan. Of course, Nik had been very reluctant to aid in Laurent’s escape but had agreed to act as a sniper for the chance to pick off Veretians.

There had been time for Jord to explain that Laurent speculated Jord’s phone was bugged and expected the ambush. Laurent hadn’t told him, had given him no preparation or explanation. Laurent wanted Damen’s trust and assistance but Damen didn’t have his in return. He had been shot because Laurent’s belief in him was so easily shaken. After meeting his uncle and getting a glimpse of what he had grown up with, Damen could understand the trust issues. Still, he held onto the anger as it helped to keep him upright. The pills Nik had brought also helped. Nikandros had patched Damen up as best he could and had sworn violently when he’d discovered there was no exit wound. The bullet was still inside him. It was basically a death sentence.

Damen had been sent to wait near the parking lot with a selection of vehicles, and as long as Laurent’s rescue was successful he would be joining him for an escape. He sat on a crate, with back against the wall. No position was comfortable, but he tried not to scrunch his abdomen. Every time he closed his eyes he heard the gun go off. Laurent had shot him. He could have died. He still might. His skin was cold. Laurent may have gotten his revenge.

It was hard for Damen to open his eyes at the sound of footsteps approaching. It wasn’t Laurent.

“I was told to pick up your body, but I guess I’m a little early.”

“Kastor?” 

“Hello, little brother. I don’t suppose you’d get into my car now and save me the trouble of throwing your corpse into the trunk?”

Damen hadn’t been given the chance to speak and reason with his brother. “We could have talked, I would have given you anything you wanted.”

“Dad always preferred you, everything I received was from pity. You think I also want that from my younger half-brother?” 

“It wouldn’t have been pity, you’re my brother. I wanted to share it with you. I wanted to do it together.”

“It shouldn’t have been yours to share. It was all supposed to be given to me before you came along. The option to share was never mine.” Kastor reached into his trench coat and drew a gun. “Now walk to the car and you can live a few more minutes.”

Damen had the Beretta. Even with a bullet wound he wasn’t going to go without a weapon and had picked the gun up off the floor. Kastor would shoot him before he could reach into his jacket.

“I can’t stand on my own,” Damen held out a hand. Kastor scoffed and gripped his wrist with a gloved hand. Damen used his weight to pull his brother down and off-balance. He knocked the gun from Kastor’s hand and heard as the metal slid across the pavement and out of reach. They were on the ground and normally Damen would have had the advantage, he was a better wrestler and fighter while Kastor had always relied on weapons. As soon as they hit the ground Damen nearly blacked out from the pain. Angrily Kastor struck him, and the shock to his jaw jarred Damen into a reaction. He went for the gun but didn’t have the follow-through or will power to actually shoot his brother. The Beretta was taken from Damen’s hands and once again aimed at his chest. He couldn’t kill Kastor but he was about to find out if his brother could kill him. 

A blur with blond hair slammed into Kastor and the two bodies rolled and tangled several feet away. Damen turned his head dazedly. Blood seeped through his bandages, he felt the warmth pooling over his stomach. 

There were skid marks in the snow where the two had slid. Laurent tried to distance himself from Kastor’s grasp but wasn’t quick enough. On the ground, he didn’t stand a chance. The size of his brain wasn’t likely to save him in a wrestling match against a larger, more experienced opponent. Laurent still fought hard. The ferocity of his struggle frustrated Kastor who had to work to get Laurent under control, but very steadily Laurent was losing.

Damen looked for the gun. He’d heard the clatter when it hit the pavement. It was between them, out of reach for both sides. 

Kastor had wrestled Laurent onto his back. Laurent hadn’t made a sound but his body screamed. With limbs thrashing, Kastor had to work to pin him down while Laurent assaulted him with even teeth and nails. His fingers went for Kastor’s face, clawing savagely. Kastor jerked away, face marked with red lines. He swore and with a fistful of blond hair slammed Laurent’s head against the pavement. Dazed from the blow, Laurent was pinned. Leather gloves slid around his throat. He reacted too late. Kastor had a tight grip with elbows locked, face and everything vital out of Laurent’s reach. The pale hands scrambled over Kastor like desperate spiders searching for a weak spot. He kicked, boots scraping against the slick snow-covered pavement. The slender body arched off the ground in a futile attempt to dislodge the weight holding him down. It was an animalistic frenzy, using the last reserves of strength. 

Painfully Damen stretched for the Beretta, fingertips just brushing the cold metal. The earth swayed beneath him and he didn’t know which gun was the real one. There was too much blood loss, moving was nearly impossible, the pain agonizing. He relied on his hearing. Laurent still struggled. Kastor grumbled and swore at the continued effort to fight him. 

The emotion of the fight had changed from the furious resistance to desperation and panic with life leaking away. A soft distressed whimper was choked from Laurent. The sound poignant, and signaled the end of the battle. Hands fell away from Kastor, and body grew limp, sinking into the frozen pavement. 

Damen stretched, body sliding wetly beneath him, back soaked with blood and melted snow. The Don’s words were in his head, ‘_ You believe Damianos would choose you over his friends and family _?’ It had struck the heart of Damen’s predicament and he was faced with the very harsh decision sooner than he had expected.

Blue eyes shifted and found Damen. They glistened brightly, damp from the struggle and panic. Damen could not interpret the expression, the multitude of thoughts and emotions a jumble behind the blue eyes. His lips were parted. Deprived of oxygen, his mouth was pale. Blond hair haloed his head, spread wildly in the snow. Even dying he was beautiful and Damen had been the last thing he had looked for. The golden eyelashes fluttered once before Laurent’s eyes closed. 

Panic fueled adrenaline hit Damen and he flung out his arm. He understood the consequences. The gun was too far for him to grip but close enough that his fingertips struck the weapon and sent it spinning to hit Laurent’s elbow. There was no movement, no reaction. Laurent’s eyes stayed closed.

Kastor had noticed Damen’s betrayal, “You’d sacrifice your brother’s life to save a Veretian?” 

“Laurent.” Damen’s voice broke. It was too late. Damen thought his heart would explode. The decision had been made for him while he hesitated and it was the wrong one. 

A pale hand twitched. Kastor didn’t see. Damen closed his eyes as the gun fired. He remembered the shock and hard punch to his stomach. 

When he opened his eyes Laurent was clawing at a gloved hand still clamped around his throat. He freed himself and gasped for air as he crawled out from beneath Kastor’s slack weight. Laurent curled up in the snow, coughing and struggling to breathe. Somewhere in the adrenaline rush, Damen had managed to move closer. The overwhelming relief he had experienced was faltering. All of his effort may have been in vain if Kastor had crushed Laurent’s trachea. He hovered over Laurent not knowing how to help. He considered mouth to mouth, maybe he could force air into Laurent’s lungs. An arm extended, fingers curled against Damen’s shoulder as Laurent kept him at a distance. The Beretta was held tightly in his other hand and Damen warily kept an eye on the gun. 

Laurent glanced around as the wind toyed with the blond hair and stirred flurries of snowflakes around them. He was still trying to catch his breath. Damen expected him to be dazed, and while he seemed rattled the eyes had not dulled. His hand stayed curled against Damen’s shoulder, tangled in his shirt. Simultaneously keeping Damen away while holding onto him. The incongruous tangle of emotion still close to the surface. 

The blue eyes rested where Damen refused to look. He hadn’t checked if Kastor was alive. The thought of Laurent dying had pushed Damen to his limits and he had reacted instinctively, sacrificing his brother. It didn’t come without regrets.

“I shot your brother,” Laurent’s voice was hoarse. His hand left Damen and gently circled his throat where the skin was chafed.

“I know,” Damen said.

“I need you to shoot me now.” Laurent’s eyes were clear when they finally met Damen’s.

After a moment of being at a loss for words, Damen finally said, “Why?”

“Because I’m tired of this pursuit.”

“You could have just let yourself die,” Damen said and almost looked back to where his brother had been left in the snow. Laurent understood what Damen hadn’t said. 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Laurent glanced to the right and Damen also turned to see the security camera aimed at them.

“Playacting,” Damen breathed. “So, what? You’re going to fake your death?” He was too tired for Laurent’s scheming. It was a never-ending game of chess.

“I shot your brother,” Laurent repeated. It was purposefully inflammatory. “He’s dead.”

“Don’t.” Damen wasn’t going to look back and confirm this. So far he had survived being shot by Laurent. The hand holding the gun moved, lifting towards him. Damen reacted instinctively, taking the gun from Laurent’s hands. 

“I shot you,” Laurent said. “You’re dying.”

“Don’t manipulate me,” Damen said. Laurent caught his arm before he could toss the gun away.

“Then do this for me.”

The world around them was pressing and impending, but between them it was quiet. Reality was augmented with the two of them in an intimate struggle that should have been private. While the camera was turned on them anyone had access to this moment. They knelt together in a shaken snow globe, unknown outside viewers unable to manipulate the outcome while watching through glass. 

“I can’t. I can’t shoot you.” Damen had lost so much strength he couldn’t wrestle the gun free from Laurent.

“Here.” Laurent put the barrel against his shoulder. There was already blood staining his shirt. Damen had meant to remove the stitches from the stab wound, maybe if he had sooner they wouldn’t have torn during his struggle. 

“This isn’t a fucking movie,” Damen said. “Even simple bullet wounds are deadly.” The gun jerked as he tried to pull away, but at the moment Laurent was stronger. “There’s an artery here,” Damen said and Laurent flinched when Damen cupped his side beneath his arm. His head was foggy. It had taken him too long to realize that on camera this could be easily misinterpreted. He had taken the gun from Laurent. Even though it was Laurent holding his wrist and keeping the gun pressed to his body, Damen would be seen as the aggressor taking revenge for his brother. It was what Laurent wanted and Damen was unwillingly playing into the scheme.

“I don’t care,” Laurent said with a tight grip on his wrist.

“I can’t,” Damen repeated. His arm shook. He wasn’t far from blacking out, the world was unstable beneath him.

“I have survived everything so far.”

“Then you may be the only one.” Everyone who had been shot with the Beretta was dead or dying. Shooting Laurent may be the last thing Damen did and he really did not want that. 

Damen was pulled off balance. The pain in his abdomen was unbearable. Laurent was forceful and insistent, blue eyes like ice, he wasn’t going to accept no for an answer. Damen was hurt and exhausted and tears came easily.

“_Please_,” Laurent said it differently. “Please do this for me.” Damen shook his head and Laurent said it again, “_Please _.”

“I don’t—” Damen’s voice broke. He wanted to rest, he was physically and mentally exhausted. It would be easy to lay down and never get up.

“It’s okay. It’s what I want,” Laurent said softly.

Damen closed his eyes.

“Please,” Laurent whispered. 

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

End of Part I


	22. Chapter 22

Part II

* * *

“You can see the muzzle flash here. The gun was definitely fired.”

“Is it possible the shot missed and there was some special effects device rigged to his shoulder?”

“The gun is pressed to his chest there’s a blood mist when the bullet exits out his back.”

Aimeric felt ill. He could never grow desensitized to these snuff films. After the first viewing, he had been physically sick. Guion had called him pathetic and L.R.’s disdain had been palpable. 

He had been called in as a ‘Laurent expert’ and with no explanation had been shoved into a seat in front of the TV. At first, he didn’t understand why he was watching the two Akielon brothers fight and thought he was going to witness Damen’s death. That had unsettled him, Damen had been nice and he didn't want to witness his murder. 

The scene only got worse. 

Aimeric physically winced when Laurent tackled Kastor. Many of his own fights had started the same way and it never ended well against a larger opponent. He sank down in his chair, heavy with dread. Laurent's struggl e was futile, and he wouldn't win the fight. 

When Aimeric turned away, Guion took him by the hair, turning his face back to the screen. Aimeric squirmed as he watched Laurent strangled. He was going to be sick.

There was a brief high of relief when the gun reached Laurent and he came back to life to free himself. Aimeric realized he must have been faking unconsciousness. Little bastard always had a plan. 

Aimeric naively thought it was over, tired from the stress, he stopped paying attention. 

It happened so quickly, the gun exchanged hands and the barrel was against Laurent’s body. The gun went off and Aimeric jumped.

Laurent’s grey shirt quickly darkened and he lay unmoving in the snow. Damen had looked down at him before half collapsing in his own puddle of blood. The scene went on like that, two bodies unmoving in the snow.

“He’s dead?” Aimeric had spoken but not heard the response, his heartbeat was a roar in his ears. His chest tight with the beginnings of a panic attack. He couldn't breathe.

Eventually, two men in masks came and carried away an unconscious or dead Damen. Laurent remained alone as the minutes went by and snow accumulated around him. It was a sick parallel to Auguste’s death. Finally, an ambulance arrived with a few police officers. After photographs and forensics, Laurent was zipped into a body bag and taken away.

Aimeric would never admit that he’d had nightmares the first night after viewing the tape.

The Don was convinced Laurent had faked his death. Aimeric’s panic attack during his first time seeing the tape had apparently been unconvincing and he'd been beaten for information. He had sworn and promised that he knew nothing. Eventually, his ignorance was believed. Sort of. An ankle monitor was attached to his leg and Guion had him on an invisible leash.

It was his senior year and again the dumb blond had stolen the spotlight. The semester had been off to a great start. Aimeric had been voted captain by the lacrosse team, he was campaigning for student body president, and he had a private room in the senior housing with exclusive parties every weekend. Now that was all past-tense. Guion had called administration to make excuses for him but neither the school nor Aimeric had been given a return date and he hadn’t been back to campus since being kidnapped by Govart. 

Aimeric wasn’t in a hurry to go back. He wouldn’t pass the sports physical with his body covered in bruises so there would be no lacrosse. His unexplained absence wouldn’t be seen as a suitable trait for president, and he really wasn’t in the mood for parties. More importantly, he didn’t want to be asked questions about Laurent. He was dead. There wasn’t much else to say. There would probably be some sappy memorial that Laurent would have found tedious. Aimeric didn’t want the condolences, he wanted to be left alone.

Unfortunately, he was forced to deal with Laurent’s death daily as the recording was scrutinized. They had followed pointless leads. Who were the cops and the EMT’s, did they have any connections to Laurent? After a background check, nothing solid had been discovered. Laurent had spent more time at police stations than the average person so it was difficult to track down who he had interacted with. What had happened to his body? At some point, Laurent had altered his records and files claiming no next of kin with instructions to have his body cremated. He had been identified by an officer named Jord who’d had multiple encounters with Laurent through adolescence. Pictures had been sent of the corpse and Aimeric had nearly been sick after being forced to view them. Yes, Laurent had been good with photoshop, but Aimeric didn’t think he had been that good.

What had happened to Damen? Had he survived? Someone matching Damen’s description and injuries had passed away in a hospital and the body stolen. Rumors were being spread of Damen’s survival and or resurrection like he was fucking Jesus Christ or something. Aimeric could give more credence to Damen being alive than Laurent, but those spreading the rumor were so forceful and insistent that Damen lived it had the opposite effect. Only those who wanted to believe were convinced he lived. It was all annoyingly biblical. 

Aimeric hoped Damen was dead. 

However, he didn’t want to believe Laurent had survived. He couldn’t have that hope grow only to be crushed by the truth. Laurent was dead.

The week-old memory kept returning to Aimeric. His own words continued to haunt him, “I should just kill him myself, then I won’t have to worry when he disappears or wonder if he was tortured first." If only he had taken action back then and stuffed Laurent in a crate and sent his ass to like Australia or something. The fucking idiot.

What Aimeric had asked repeatedly was whether Kastor was still alive. The consensus was, yes, Kastor was alive. So then where was he? No one would say. The irony was not lost on anyone. The Veretians insisted Kastor lived and denied Damen’s survival, while the Akielons claimed the reverse.

In order to play the story the way he wanted, the Don had released the video of Laurent shooting Damen as well as the public execution. The ending on the latter had been cut out and the morgue pictures had been circulated as proof of death.

The real video of Laurent’s murder had not been leaked and as far as Aimeric knew, only a handful of people had seen it, as well as a few experts who had been tasked with enhancing the footage. Aimeric had seen the original and improved versions but not much had changed. Laurent was still dead even if the Don couldn’t accept that.

Aimeric had thought Laurent’s final move would be some elegant checkmate with a satisfying happy ending. Instead, he had gone kamikaze. Laurent had dispatched both Akielon leaders and once it was discovered both Kastor and Damen were dead the alliance would crumble along with both mobs. The Akielons had already resisted the alliance and without the example of leadership collaborating peacefully with the Veretians, there would be a rebellion.

At some point, Laurent had created a will that donated the entirety of his trust fund to a charity. The Don had been after that money for years and it had been recently implied that he had intended to use it to buy the loyalty of the Akielons. It gave Aimeric good reason to believe that Kastor was dead but the Veretian leadership would do their best to pretend otherwise in order to keep the peace. 

Laurent may be dead, but he had majorly fucked over his uncle and the fallout would be massive. Maybe it was for the best Laurent and Nicaise weren’t going to be around when the city was burnt to the ground.

One of the few things that would further screw over the Veretians would be Laurent’s reappearance. The Don had been forced to lie about executing Damen’s killer, if it was discovered Laurent had also killed Kastor and then reappeared alive and whole, not even a huge payout would placate the Akielons. So Aimeric could understand the desperation to be certain Laurent was really dead. It would be a magnificent takedown and it made Aimeric want to believe it was possible. He couldn’t do that though, couldn’t live his life in futile hope. Acceptance was the fastest way to heal. 

Laurent had done this to him before. Well, he hadn’t died, but one night he had simply not come back to the dorm and didn't answer his phone. Obviously, Aimeric had wondered if he was dead in a ditch somewhere. With only a month left until graduation the valedictorian had disappeared. There was constant harassment and questions from the students and administration. He and Laurent had been in near-constant trouble with the new headmaster but suddenly Aimeric was expected to be responsible and know where the blond menace had gone. He was not Laurent's keeper. He hadn't even warranted a note or message that Laurent was alive or even just okay. As far as he knew, Laurent’s world had been quiet. Most of his time had gone towards obsessively checking the mailbox waiting for his Harvard letter. Then without any notice, he was gone. At least this time Aimeric knew what had happened.

Admittedly, there were two parts that didn’t make sense. First, were the two masked men, they had rescued Laurent from his execution, but had only collected Damen’s body, given that he was dead, and left Laurent.

The second, was Damen hitting the gun and sending it across the space to Laurent. There was no logic behind that action. Who was he passing it to? Laurent had stopped fighting, so if he had been trying to help him it was seemingly too late. Kastor had been trying to kill Damen moments earlier and clearly didn’t need the help in finishing Laurent. Did Damen not realize that by giving the gun to Laurent it would be used against his brother? Why would he then kill Laurent for acting in self-defense? Had he not meant to send the gun at all and it had been an accident? In the end, it didn’t really matter, the outcome was still the same.

Through the obsessive investigation Guion and the other Capos had been staying at the manor and since Aimeric was leashed to his dad, so was he. The indoor pool was the only thing that brought him joy. He wasn’t sleeping much, the memories were too loud and he felt like a ghost wandering the empty house in the middle of the night. It had taken a few days before he could visit Laurent and Nicaise’s rooms. They felt like mausoleums, empty and painful. Nicaise had been nearly forgotten in the controversy of who was alive and who wasn’t. There hadn’t even been a funeral. Aimeric had briefly wondered if Nicaise’s death had been faked, but decided not to go down that rabbit hole. The same rule applied, no hope that would later be crushed.

Nicaise’s room was a mess, it screamed pre-teen with piles of dirty clothes, candy wrappers, and assorted detritus making it a minefield to maneuver around. Eventually, Aimeric found a relatively clean blue beanie that Nicaise had frequently worn and shoved it in a pocket. They had shared an interest in fashion and it seemed more appropriate to take an article of clothing than something like his Switch. He did also take the Switch but only as a form of recreation since his phone had been confiscated.

Laurent’s room and its immaculate emptiness was eerie. A layer of dust had accumulated on everything and his plant was dying. Aimeric considered the little Harvard flag above the bed but instead took the toy horse from the bedside table. A school photo of Nicaise now sat next to Laurent’s family portrait. For a moment Aimeric considered swiping those as well but he had plenty of selfies with Nicaise and a few where he had forced Laurent into the photo with him.

It was after midnight and Aimeric had found the best hiding place was the empty staff kitchen. He was on the floor after finishing a bottle of cognac for his dinner and for the first time had the courage to scroll through his pictures. The majority were of him and Nicaise trying different Snapchat filters. Some had the three of them after either Aimeric or Nicaise had bullied Laurent into joining them. At school, the tactic had been to just grab Laurent and take the picture risking a blond blur or pissy expression. The toy horse was in his hand when he came across the picture taken after the dance while they still wore the prom king crowns. The dumb blond had actually, genuinely, smiled for this one, it was a very poised, very ‘I’m Laurent and I know everything’ smile. It was exactly the kind of picture that was enlarged and used at funerals and in news circulation. The police report in the local paper had used the school picture. If Aimeric turned this picture over to be used, he would be cropped out and the image would be just of a beautiful, mischievous, bright-eyed, blond who had died violently at eighteen.

Aimeric dropped his phone, “Fuck you, Laurent.” He ran hands through his hair with the horse still in his grasp. He wasn’t going to cry over Laurent, he wanted to feel angry, but it couldn’t fill the empty pit in his stomach. 

—

Damen drifted in and out of agony. Time had become abstract, it was outside his ability to know if days or months had passed. Consciousness always lasted briefly and only small details registered. He wasn’t in a hospital, more like a hospice. He remembered people discussing the surgery. The bullet had been removed. There were complications. Minor liver damage. Signs of infection. There was also the fever. Days, or moments, of too hot, too cold. He had an IV but still felt pain, it was the only thing tethering him to reality. 

There was a floor to ceiling window that took up an entire wall and was the only way Damen tracked the time. It was not easy with the temperamental climate. It was the end of Autumn and the weather was diffused with snowstorms, thunderstorms, and blindingly bright sunny days. Maybe a year had passed with Damen sleeping through each season.

Specters came to him in dreams or visions. Laurent would visit like a vengeful angel. Appearing at night, his back against the window, illuminated by flashes of lightning. Blue eyes sparking with fury. Kastor would be at the end of the bed, a hole through him the size of a cannonball. Blame and judgment sat in his eyes that were dark like coals and damnation. Jokaste lounged like Aphrodite. She was smug, radiant, and flawless. Laurent appeared when the only light came from the machines keeping Damen alive. He stood over Damen, white and thin with bandages around his throat and arm in a sling. He was a ghost or a reaper coaxing Damen to join him in death. 

Eventually, Damen was coherent for a few hours at a time. The fever hadn’t broken, his body still fighting infection. He finally met the physician taking care of him. Paschal was a retired pediatrician working part-time as an EMT. When he asked about Laurent he was given the disappointing answer of, “He’s not seeing anyone.” Damen couldn’t exactly get out of bed to visit but at least it meant Laurent was alive and not just a spirit in Damen’s fevered visions. Paschal was reluctant to answer any questions but Laurent was the only thing Damen asked about and he was slowly given information. Laurent had lost his voice for several days and he currently couldn’t use his right arm but if everything healed correctly he would recover with little problems.

Damen on the other hand was taking longer to improve than expected. In a rare moment of clarity, he heard Paschal say to a nurse that he was running out of painkillers. The conversation continued that Laurent was easily managed, with just a little morphine he’d sleep for days. Damen was not recovering well and the damaged part of his liver may need to be removed. Paschal was not giving him a positive prognosis. 

It was that night, or maybe the next, that the Laurent apparition reappeared. This time he perched on the edge of the bed, staring out the massive window towards the city lights. It was a few minutes of silence before he noticed Damen was conscious.

“I thought you weren’t seeing anyone,” Damen said when the blond ghost didn’t evaporate. 

“I made an exception. Paschal is not confident you’ll recover.”

“You only visited because I’m dying?”

“I’ve been— conflicted.” Laurent’s voice was husky, his throat dark with bruises.

“I didn’t know,” Damen said, “I didn’t intentionally lie to you.” There had been many fevered nightmares revolving around variations of this conversation. Damen wasn’t certain this one was real.

“I know, but—” Laurent turned away. 

“But you don’t want to forgive me,” Damen said, he had expected this. It had plagued his mind, he wanted to be optimistic, but Laurent had shot him. Damen wouldn’t forget that. Forgiveness might come if he survived.

“I don’t know.” Laurent was far away, physically and mentally. Damen still wanted to touch him but the thought brought pain, he had been betrayed and maybe killed. His feelings were a confusing mass he still wanted him, but Laurent had hurt him.

“Do you want me to die?”

“I don’t know.” 

The pain in Damen’s abdomen was suddenly not comparable to the pain in his chest. “Then why are you here?” 

“I want to know what my uncle told you about Nicaise,” Laurent said, avoiding eye contact. 

Damen told him.

It was not a night that Laurent was capable of hiding vulnerability. His scabs had been ripped away with defenses destroyed and it seemed he hadn’t recovered or rebuilt his walls yet. Laurent covered his mouth, still turned away, as Damen recapped on the Don’s gruesome story of Nicaise’s supposed suicide. 

Laurent took a few moments to recover, “What else did he tell you?” 

Damen recapped to the best of his ability while Laurent listened from a distance, his reactions more controlled with an arm around his middle. Damen wasn’t entirely sure Laurent was real, he was white from blood loss and slightly disheveled wearing clothes that were too big for him. Damen was also in strange clothes. All of their belongings had been left in the car. Damen’s weapons, Laurent’s computer parts, and personal items like their clothes. They had nothing. They were probably not even a ‘they’ anymore. Damen had nothing.

An uncomfortable silence passed while Damen’s mind drifted, but Laurent hadn’t made any move to leave and lingered almost as though he didn’t want to. 

“Tell me what I missed,” Damen said.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know where we are or how we got here.”

“This is Charls’ home. He is the friend of my parent’s that I mentioned.”

“Charls the fashion designer?” Damen asked. The extravagance of the penthouse had helped him make the deduction.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t he with the Veretian Mob?”

“He has technically bought his way out.”

“So your uncle won’t think to look here?”

“He might, but Charls withdrew from the mob after my parent’s death and neither I, nor Auguste, had been in contact with him until this summer. Charls still pays a decent sum to the Veretians and I don’t think my uncle would jeopardize that donation by insisting to search for me here. It would be a contract violation. Charls also has his own set of security. So I’m not especially worried.”

“How much of this did you have planned?” Damen asked.

“It didn’t really go the way I expected or wanted,” Laurent said vaguely. 

“That’s not what I asked. Multiple people had to be involved for you to pull this off, it wasn’t a spontaneous thing.”

“You’re right, but it was never a concrete plan, more of an idea. In some ways, it worked out better than expected.”

“You mean because you killed the Akielon leader,” Damen stated knowing that could almost be applied to both him and Kastor.

“Partly.” Laurent looked at Damen, expression earnest. “The latest news is that Kastor is alive. The speculation on who is dead and who is alive is almost entertaining. Even if my uncle suspects I’m alive it is more suited to his narrative to pretend I was executed. If the truth were to be revealed there would likely be an Akielon rebellion. So for the moment, it's been agreed that I am dead, but there is no consensus on you and Kastor.”

“That’s very convoluted,” Damen said.

“Do you want me to die?” Laurent echoed Damen’s earlier question. It was a startling change in topic.

“No,” Damen said it without thinking.

“Why not?” 

“Because your intentions have been noble. You’re still a good person.”

“I’m not—” Laurent didn’t have much blood in his system for a proper blush but it didn’t take much for the color to show in the pale complexion. “I shot your brother.”

“He could be alive,” Damen said. There was the unspoken ‘I also shot your brother.’

“I shot you,” Laurent said.

“I know, you keep reminding me.”

The uncomfortable silence began again. Laurent still didn’t show interest in leaving and lingered.

“We sort of had this conversation once,” Damen said. “You asked how I could trust you after Kastor betrayed me.”

“I remember.”

“You’ve made trusting you difficult. You let me walk into a trap then abandoned me.”

Laurent changed colors again, his gaze turned towards his lap. “It wasn’t meant to get so out of control.”

“You planned to fake your death.”

“I know. I suppose my reasoning was that I wanted a genuine reaction from you, but it was wrong of me. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t know,” Damen said. It wasn’t intentionally throwing the words back at Laurent but his being unsure if he wanted Damen to live had struck hard. 

“I understand.” Laurent slipped off the bed and left.

Damen felt worse than he’d had for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some encouragement, I decided to get a Tumblr: redwritinghood.tumblr.com  
I thought it would be fun to try little writing prompts. Not sure how it will go, but for those of you who want more Aimeric and Laurent roommate stuff, this is your chance.


End file.
